


Home Is Where The Heart Is

by Mothia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Alchemist Ana Amari, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Appearances From:, Dragon Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fareeha plays the guitar, Halloween AU, Hunter Jesse McCree, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Magic, Minor Original Character(s), POV Third Person, Past Tense, Plot, Shieldmaiden Brigitte Lindholm, Soldier 76 | Jack Morrison - Freeform, Viking Torbjörn Lindholm, Will-O-Wisp Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, hanzo shimada - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 05:50:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21266090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothia/pseuds/Mothia
Summary: When a young Fareeha Amari runs away from home, her mother, the legendary Alchemist, sets out to find her. However, the Witch of the Wilds has other plans.A story about trust, betrayal, and forgiveness.Rated M for some violence and suggestive content.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, damn, I really wanted to post this on Halloween but ended up being so busy that midnight passed me by when I wasn't paying attention. At least it's still Halloween in some timezone, right? Right. It's not cheating if I just change the publication date just a little bit...
> 
> I've been working on this little thing for a while. The Halloween AU is one of my favorites, and I wanted to explore it. As always, please let me know if you spot any errors, would like more tags, or have any other suggestions. Happy (belated) Halloween!

The town was much like any other—chaotic, lively, and full of everyday people doing everyday things. It was built along a small river, with trade flowing in and out from downstream, while the fishermen plied their craft upstream, in cold, clear waters fed by runoff from the mountains. Patchworks of farmland radiated in all directions save east and north, cut through by a wide, neatly maintained dirt road, which, following the water, entered from the west, and exited from the northeast. Just south of the road was the local lord’s castle, which rose sturdy and strong over the town, facing out upon the northeastern road.

To the north, a narrower path, only wide enough for perhaps two to walk side by side, split off discreetly from the town and its web of streets and alleys. It wound its way up a broad, grassy slope, straightening out once over its crest, where the land plateaued. There was a house there, a small one, set just far enough back that it couldn’t be seen from the base of the slope. It was built of sturdy oak, pine, and stone in a fashion that made it look like it was perpetually hunkered down, as if to weather out a storm, and its single chimney near-constantly spewed small wisps of white smoke. The house watched over the town, with its front facing the dirt path. To its back, there was a garden, which was by all accounts fairly ordinary, save for the corner filled with plants that curious observers could never seem to identify.

It was the only house on top of that slope. Most people were ever wary of the shadowy eaves of the forest, and no one else had been brave enough to make their home so close to those grim trees. Who knew, after all, what came out of the Wilds at night.

***

The windows were open when Fareeha came home. Spring was in the air; the breeze brought with it the sweet scent of dew, grass, and new leaves. It brushed up against the bundles of herbs drying above the door, the windows, and the fireplace, pushing some of the fire’s warmth away. Light spilled cool and fresh across the floor, and the earthy aroma of tea filled the house.

Ana was waiting for her at the table, hands folded passively around an earthenware cup. She didn’t look up when Fareeha entered; she simply raised the cup to her lips and silently took a sip. Fareeha tried to close the door quietly behind her, as if it would have made any difference.

“You’re back early,” Ana said, still not looking up. The pot above the fire was a bright, burnished copper. Its contents had been simmering since morning.

Fareeha did her best to shrug nonchalantly. “We were finished early.” She was regretting not buying lunch in the market. There was an impending argument in the air; there always was on days like this. It would have been more bearable with some good food in her stomach.

Ana sighed, blowing air out of her nose. She took another sip of tea. “Running around with the guards again today?”

Fareeha unlooped her pack from her shoulders and hung it up by the door. “I was in the library too,” she mumbled.

“For how long?” When Fareeha didn’t answer, Ana shook her head. “You know how I feel about this—”

“And you know how _ I _ feel about it.” Fareeha stood by the door. She didn’t want to have to walk through that room. “Is it really so bad that I want to learn to fight?”

Ana finally looked up, eye cool and dark. She studied Fareeha, the corners of her lips turned down. “Have you eaten lunch?” She looked and sounded remarkably weary, for the one who had started this and every other argument.

Fareeha shook her head mutely.

“Clean yourself up,” Ana said, nodding at the mud splattered over Fareeha’s boots. “There’s soup on the stove.”

Soup on the stove and a brew on the fire. So it was in the Alchemist’s home. Wordlessly, Fareeha skirted the room, sticking to the wall, and made her way up the narrow steps. They were made of dark wood that had begun to creak two winters ago.

Her room was small, as befitting the house. There was only one window, looking out over the garden, but it was reasonably wide, and let a fair amount of sunlight stream in, especially in the morning. Fareeha set her boots by the door, noting with disapproval the way the already-dried dirt dusted the floor. She would have to go back and clean that up later, rather defeating the effect of storming off in the first place.

It didn’t take her long to wash up, rinsing her hands and face, and smoothing wet fingers through her hair. Still, Fareeha lingered in her room. She didn’t want to go back downstairs to face her mother, but she also knew that Ana would not stir from her spot at the table for a long time yet.

She went back downstairs.

Ana said nothing to her as she ate, instead focusing on finishing her tea. Fareeha, in turn, said nothing back. Just when the atmosphere became unbearable, Ana retreated into her own room, leaving the pot on the table. Fareeha let out a sigh.

She went back upstairs and retrieved her boots before opening the back door and stepping outside, sitting down on the steps leading down into the garden to pull the boots back on and lace them up. A stone path led from the base of the steps all the way to the fence, cutting cleanly through the middle of the garden.

She threw herself into her work, walking around and checking the plants, all the way from the rosemary growing in the sandy soil of the upper garden, to the mint in the rich, damper soil along the far side. The nightshade, carefully isolated along with the rest of the toxic plants in the far corner, needed a little bit of trimming, but otherwise seemed healthy. The soil was good, having been kept fairly damp by the morning mist that was so common this time of year. Returning back to the center of the garden, the sage was growing splendidly near the path, its leaves rounded and soft with fine, silver fur. She’d best take a few cuttings today.

There wasn’t much to do. Just trim a few unhealthy stems, water only the few most demanding plants, and scour the leaves and ground for pests and weeds. Fareeha was satisfied by early afternoon, and sat down to brush the dirt off of her shoes. After wiping them down with a damp cloth and leaving them out to dry, Fareeha stepped back inside, her eyes falling on the abandoned teapot.

“Abandoned” was perhaps not the correct word for it. Ana Amari was not the kind of woman to leave these things just lying around. Fareeha lifted the cover, and, peering in, found about half of the pot still left over, though it had cooled to a lukewarm temperature by now.

She wasn’t terribly picky. She sat down for a break and a cup of tea, running a list of tasks through her head. Her eyes settled eventually on the door to her mother’s room.

There was sunlight peeking through the gap underneath it, but no movement, and no sound. As per usual.

She could only savor one cup for so long. She washed the cup, set it aside to dry, backtracked to her bag, pulled out her coat, and stepped back outside to shake and brush the dust from it. After wiping that, too, down with a damp cloth, and setting it out to dry, Fareeha simply sat where she was, leaning back on her arms, stretching out her legs, and enjoying the warmth of the sun.

She stirred when she remembered that she still had to clean the stairs. The poor brush had been thoroughly dirtied and washed twice already today. Fareeha sighed.

She started from the top, in and directly outside her room, working down each step, along the wall, and back to the front door.

Ana emerged from her own room as Fareeha was coming back inside, having just finished a final washing up. They exchanged a look, but still, no words. As the shadow of the windowless stairwell fell over her face, it occurred to Fareeha that she ought to apologize.

She didn’t want to. It also occurred to her that it might be juvenile, but she still didn’t want to. She wanted to go back into town, perhaps to nose around in the library again, or see if there was anything interesting in the market today; a few merchants had arrived late the previous evening. There was enough time left in the day, but she didn’t want to see the look on her mother’s face when she disappeared again.

Instead, Fareeha curled up in the afternoon sunlight pooling on her bed, and set to absentmindedly picking out disjointed scraps of song on the guitar she kept in the corner of the room. It was old, but well-loved, the wood smooth and resonant from years of playing and care. Her mother could probably hear her, but Ana never cared over much about it.

The thought came again. She should apologize. Fareeha curled up, sighing heavily. She should apologize, before feelings got too hurt. Still, some part of her snapped irritably in the back of her head. She wanted desperately to fight, and it was no wonder, considering who her mother was. She had grown up on legends, had only wanted to try and follow her example. And if not a soldier, a guard, a fighter, then what? What would her future be? 

She couldn’t keep doing this, a bitter voice in the back of her mind said. She couldn’t keep having a fight every week. Ana would keep saying no, because it was dangerous. Even though it was the choice that she herself had made, and even though she’d never regretted it.

There was bread on the table when Fareeha finally emerged in the evening, fresh, warm, and soft. Ana must have just gotten back. Her eye had softened with the evening sun, and Fareeha knew that this was her way of extending an olive branch. A weight slipped from her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, as she pulled out a chair. “For worrying you.”

Ana inclined her head. “I’m glad you’re strong,” she conceded. “And that you’re happy with what you do. But I still wish you would find something else.” The words hung in the air between them.

Fareeha decided she would rather eat. It would be a shame to let the bread grow cold, anyways. “I’ll stay away from the barracks,” she said, finally.

Ana looked up sharply, and smiled. “I would be glad.”

“I would still like to go to the castle for the library,” Fareeha continued.

Ana inclined her head, her hair sweeping in a soft curtain over her shoulder. “I can’t argue with that.”

After a few more minutes of silence, Fareeha shifted gears. “Did you see anything interesting today?”

“Hm?” Ana cocked her head.

“In the marketplace. I didn’t stop to look.”

Ana thought about it, and shrugged. “The usual out of the artisans. Jewelry, dyed cloth, carved trinkets. Some books, mostly cloth-bound, some leather.” She nodded at Fareeha. “Have you filled your current one yet?”

“Only mostly.”

Ana nodded again, thoughtfully. “Some fish and fruit.”

“All the way from the coast?” Fareeha leaned forward, eyes bright.

“Worth a rather large amount of silver,” Ana commented wryly.

“Mom—”

Ana chuckled. “Go into town yourself tomorrow. Take some change with you; see for yourself if you think it’s worth it or not.”

“And if I think it is?”

Ana shrugged. “Then it is.”

Fareeha had to grin at the idea, but sat back, and shook her head. “It’s probably wiser to get something less perishable.”

Ana simply shrugged again, and turned her attention wholly to her food.

The next morning dawned over a gauzy field of mist, though it had mostly burned away by the time Fareeha made her way down into town. True to her word, she hurried to the castle, stopping only to exchange a few breathless greetings with the guards. They knew her, and more importantly, they knew her mother. They let her into the library without question.

The castle, like all castles, was built first for defense, to care for and protect a great number of people if and when the situation should arise. The library was a later addition, made in times of peace, and was thus relatively modest. Fareeha didn’t mind. There was still more than enough material to keep her busy. She gathered a few books, sat herself down in the single desk by the window, pulled out her journal, and began to write.

She took a break only for lunch (no food among the books, after all). Even then, she was still deep in thought when she returned.

The guards noticed. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve suddenly gotten all studious on us,” one of them said, faintly amused.

“My mother’s mad at me again,” Fareeha said. “I’m making it up to her.”

“Ah, well, good luck.”

“Come around in the evening if you have time,” the other chimed in. “It’s a card night.”

“I’ll think about it,” Fareeha replied, brushing by. “See you guys later.”

She finally emerged in the afternoon, looking tired, but self-satisfied. From the library, she made her way down to the courtyard, where the guards liked to train when the weather permitted it.

“Hey! ‘Reeha!” One of them raised an arm in greeting. “I thought you were in trouble with your mom again..?”

“I am,” Fareeha called back, eyeing the center of the courtyard. “I just wanted to say hello.”

The guard approached, voice lowering to a regular speaking volume. “We’re glad to see you. How have you been today?”

“Thinking,” Fareeha said, bright-eyed. “Listen, if I were to train by myself, I could probably get away with it.”

“You know, they say to never train by yourself. You don’t catch your own mistakes.”

Fareeha inclined her head in concession. “But it’s better than just letting it rust away.” She looked up hopefully. “So if you were to give me a sword…”

The guard frowned. “I don’t know, we’d all hate to upset your mother—”

“I know,” Fareeha said, impatiently. “I already keep and maintain knives, it’s not like I can’t handle one. And it’s not like I’m asking for a gun either. If she finds out, I’ll just say I stole it.”

“You? Steal a sword?” The guard snorted. “She’d never believe it.”

Fareeha shrugged. “Then I won’t let her find out. I just want something good to work with. Properly weighted.” She waited. “I don’t want to give this up.”

The guard stared at her, and muttered something. “I’ll see if I can’t hide one in the bushes behind the barracks. If anything goes wrong, it’s your neck, not mine.”

Fareeha relaxed, beaming. “Thanks.”

“Now get going. You’re not supposed to be loitering around here.”

***

Fareeha spent the last few hours of her free time investigating the marketplace, eventually returning home with some cheese, meat, ink, wax, and a handful of seashells.

“I said something less perishable, didn’t I?” She said, dropping that last item on the table. Ana eyed the shells, and laughed.

“So you did.” She reached out, picking one up and turning it over. It was pale blue, and striped with yellow. “Good choice.”

“Perhaps I shall become a famous sailor,” Fareeha said, filling her voice with mock seriousness. Ana laughed again. “Laugh all you want mother, one of these days I’ll sneak away and go sailing down the river, and if you don’t start taking me seriously then I won’t even send you any seashells.”

“Such coldness from my own daughter!”

“I’ll save them for myself. Or perhaps to charm all the mermaids.”

“Don’t you think mermaids have enough seashells?” Ana asked, her good eye twinkling. “Send them to me, and I’ll exchange them for flowers.”

Fareeha snorted. “Cunning.”

Ana nodded solemnly. “You must get it from somewhere.”

***

The house at the edge of the Wilds was a happy one, all in all. Fareeha began to find a new routine. She spent her mornings in the library, got some lunch, and snuck away into the forest in the afternoon. For guitar practice, she said. Which wasn’t entirely untrue—she was just practicing something else as well. She’d found the sword hidden in the bushes, after all, and wanted to make the best use of her luck. She stopped coming home with training ground mud on her shoes and cuts and bruises on her hands, and for a time everyone was happy.

Everyone was happy, until the schedule broke. Fareeha had been itching for a spar for weeks, and when her mother first laid her good eye on that way that Fareeha held herself, that telltale way that a person acted when they had a tender spot from being hit too hard in the side, all she could do was frown. 

“Let me see,” Ana said, nodding at the table.

She could heal. She was trained, albeit informally, as a medic, and the strength of her salves and tinctures was one half of what had made her legendary. Fareeha considered it.

“No,” she replied flatly. “I’ve already been patched up.”

Ana’s eye hardened then, her frown deepening. “Don’t be a fool,” she snapped.

“I’d appreciate it if you could stop treating me like a child,” Fareeha snapped back. It sounded silly even as she said it.

Ana rose suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You are my daughter—”

“And I wish I could be half the woman you are,” Fareeha interrupted.

“You could be so much more, if you would just _ listen— _”

“They say there’s trouble brewing in the north,” Fareeha broke in. “If it gets much worse—”

“_The Wilds _ are to the north,” Ana growled. “There’s always trouble in the Wilds.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Fareeha raised her eyebrows. When Ana failed to reply, she snorted. “If not you, then who? They need people to fight.”

“You? Is that what you think?” Ana frowned. “All you would do is get yourself killed.”

Fareeha flinched. She had always excelled in combat, even among guards who had received formal training, and twice as much of it. Not that it ever mattered to Ana. The argument died in her throat.

She could feel her mother’s gaze on her back all the way up the stairs.

The next morning dawned frigid and overcast, much like Fareeha’s mood. The rain that had started in the night had lightened only to a fine drizzle. Fareeha was up and out the door before Ana even emerged from her room. She stuck her hands in her pockets, lowered her head against the rain, and walked into the grey fog.

There was almost no one around. It was too early, and the weather was too miserable. Fareeha ended up taking shelter in the guards’ mess hall, warmed by the cooking fires. The others could tell that she was in a bad mood, and that it was at least partially their fault. They left her alone.

When the rain let up, she slipped away, back to the library, with all its dismal, drafty corners. In the afternoon she made some purchases at a few shops, picking up bread, salted meat, hard cheese, and some twine, and returned home in the evening.

She avoided her mother as much as possible. Dinner was frosty, broken only by a few forced pleasantries. The look in Ana’s eye was that of mere resigned disappointment.

Fareeha sighed. It was a cold, damp sort of day, anyways. Her mother was prone to aching joints, pain in her shot-out eye, and bad moods on days like these. It was a bad time to start another argument.

“Will you be alright?” She asked.

Ana chuckled dryly. “I’m not an invalid.” She nodded at the fireplace. “There’s wood enough. Go to sleep.”

Fareeha slept little, only catching what felt like an hour or two before restlessness pushed her out of bed. She padded over to the window, peering out through the glass. The rain had stopped. The thin, cold mist that it left in its wake pooled in the dips and furrows of the garden, between the leaves and in the shadows. The moon was full, or near to it, casting everything in a soft, silvery-blue glow.

She turned her head, drawing closer to the glass, breath fogging on its surface. The trees were a solid black mass, looming jagged and ominous out of the night. They seemed to defy lighting, the moonlight only hinting at the tips of the tallest trees. The mountains in the distance had been entirely painted over by clouds. 

It was the Wilds, a nest of monsters and old magic, hiding innumerable secrets in its depths. It was both a birthplace and a tomb for the greatest of heroes. There was a feeling in Fareeha’s chest as she looked through the glass—anxiety, or anticipation, she couldn’t tell. She stepped back, and reached for the paper and pen on her desk.

Fareeha paused at the bottom of the stairs, head cocked, listening for any sound. The house was quiet. Still. She slowly put her weight down, carefully avoiding the boards that she knew were prone to squeaking. The fireplace still glowed, as usual, but it was low, burnt to a bed of coals. The pot above it had taken on a sharp, leafy smell. It would probably be ready for bottling soon, but Ana had never disclosed the secrets of her craft, not even to her own daughter.

Fareeha retrieved her coat and bag from the hook by the door, filling the latter with the small collection of supplies that she’d been building up. Just in case. In case of this. There wasn’t much to carry; she’d wanted to travel light. It did pain her to leave the guitar behind, but the gold, copper, and silver in her hair was enough sentiment for one journey.

Fareeha lingered at the door, holding her breath. Still, neither sound nor movement came. After a few minutes, she eased open the door, and slipped out into the cold night air.

The sword was where she left it, back in its original spot behind the barracks. Fareeha took a moment to inspect it, but didn’t linger for long. Making the walk into town without being seen had sapped enough time, and she still had to get back out. The sheath was well-made and fitted; no water had made it in over the past day and night. She fixed it to a loop in her belt, and, skirting the light, darted back into the narrow, winding backstreets. She walked in the grass instead of the dirt, though she doubted it would make much difference. Her mother knew her too well to be fooled by something like that.

The Alchemist’s home guarded the path, crouching next to it like some patient guard dog. Past it, the path grew narrower, the grass having encroached upon it over the years. Fareeha and her mother were the only ones who walked it anymore. Fareeha never went too far beyond the first line of trees, and never at night.

Now she stood just before the forest, head tilted back to look into the trees. The shadows of the branches reached across the ground like so many fingers, emerging from the all-consuming abyss to claw hungrily at the light. The air was still, and heavy. There was neither a gate nor a fence barring the way; those that entered the Wilds knew what they were doing, and the things that came out would hardly be bothered by a mere fence. There was only a sign marking the way. To the north, the Wilds, and the reclusive few settlements within. To the south, safety, and the wider world.

Fareeha took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold. She looked back once, just before the light of the open grass and the little house with the smoking chimney disappeared from view.

She wondered what would happen when she was gone. She silently hoped that her mother would forgive her someday.

And then she turned, facing forward, and made her way into the darkness.


	2. II.

Ana Amari stood at the door, looking over the empty room, her lips drawn together into a thin line. She turned her head, regarding the guitar that had been stood carefully in the corner. The light streaming through the window was already the dim blue of evening. Ana felt for the slip of paper in her pocket and tried to quell the panic rising in her throat.

It was too late to conduct official business at the castle. She would have to wait until tomorrow morning. A full night. Ana had to remind herself to breathe. To calm down. A full night of doing nothing.

She cursed. She cursed her daughter, for running off into a danger that she could not possibly comprehend. She cursed the guards, for making her think she was ready. She cursed old friends, who used to visit when Fareeha was young, for planting tales of glory in her head. And she cursed herself, for not paying close enough attention. Fareeha had been studying in the library and slowly collecting supplies for weeks at least; she could see that now. She’d be impressed, if she weren’t so scared and angry.

The night was restless for Ana. She slept little, spending hours pacing in front of the fireplace, trying to think of a plan. Trying to scour the letter for clues. She stepped outside on numerous occasions, to look at the path, searching for fresh footsteps, noting the way the grass was bent in some places. Ana worried her fingers through her grey hair until she was forced to braid and tie it back to keep herself from pulling at it. Sleep was a hopeless cause after that.

Dawn found Ana sitting at the table, nursing a cup of tea and waiting for the rest of the world to wake. She tapped one finger against the table, counting out the minutes.

***

Conversation lapsed as she approached. Ana cocked her head, taking in the small courtyard of packed, sandy dirt enclosed by a wooden fence. She laid one gloved hand on a wooden post, still damp from the morning mist. “I’m looking for my daughter.” 

The guards exchanged looks and murmured among themselves. It was a few minutes before anyone spoke up. “I haven’t seen her at all today, or yesterday.” Muttered agreements rippled through the small group.

“What a coincidence.” Ana’s voice was cool. “I haven’t either.”

There was a startled silence. “Suppose we could check with the others once they come off duty…”

Ana nodded. “Do that.” She stepped away, back into the shadow of the wall.

“Have you tried the forest? The market square?”

“She would have come home,” Ana called over her shoulder.

Still, it didn’t hurt to check. People got out of her way when they saw her coming. Ana was well-respected, even here, so far away from the great conflicts of recent history. It was clear, too, that she was in a bad and worsening mood, glaring icily around and speaking to no one, except to occasionally ask a clipped question and snort in disgust when no good answer was offered.

The disturbances in the grass were all but gone by the time Ana returned to her home, the stems righting themselves in the sun. She tracked them to the edge of the forest, and stood there, looking into the thick darkness under those boughs.

She didn’t look around when she heard the horse sprinting up the path, nor when the rider got off and landed with a thump, clearly out of breath.

“I’ve made the rounds, ma’am,” the guard said. “Talked to everyone, and, well, captain wants to talk to you. Down at the barracks. Take the horse, I can walk back.”

Ana turned her head, a little bit further than she would have liked. This one had ridden up on her blind side. She frowned, but didn’t say anything, taking the proferred reins and stepping up into the saddle. The guard lingered near her with a faint, worried air, as if she was afraid that Ana was too old to ride anymore. Ana ignored her.

About a half a dozen or so more guards were clustered around the barracks when she arrived. Someone stepped up and led the horse away as soon as Ana dismounted, her coat swirling in the breeze. She lifted her chin and leveled her gaze at the captain, marked by the golden insignia pinning his cloak. He nodded to her.

“I assume you’ve found something.”

“Yes. One thing in particular.” He gestured to another guard, one that looked like she would rather go diving in the river in full plate than be facing down Ana Amari at that moment.

Still, she stepped forward. “I was aware,” she said, with an admirably steady voice, “that… well, there was a sword hidden here, in the bushes, that Fareeha used to practice with.”

Ana frowned, but before she could say anything, the captain spoke again. “How and why it got there, will be dealt with later. For now…” He gestured to the ground. “Evidently, it is not here.”

“A sword,” Ana said flatly. “A training sword, or..?”

The guard shook her head. “No. A sharpened, metal one.”

Ana’s frown deepened. “Interesting that no one noticed for so long,” she said.

The captain cringed, just slightly. “Like I said—”

“It doesn’t matter. Pick your two bravest and send them with your three fastest horses to meet me at the forest entrance. First thing in the morning tomorrow. Equip them with supplies for a week.”

“I…” The captain bowed slightly under Ana’s glare. “What are you..?”

“My daughter has gone into the Wilds and not come back. I intend to search for her.”

“We would have to get clear it with the lord—”

“You will.” Ana was already turning away. “I used to hope, sir, that you would not teach my daughter how to fight. Now, I hope for her sake that you did it well.”

Ana retreated back to her home for the rest of the day, settling into that old, familiar, methodical way of preparing for a journey. She found her long, dark, hooded traveler’s cloak. That day was the first time it had seen sunlight in years. Following that was her bandolier, which she oiled and cleaned until the leather was supple and smooth again, and the mask, which she had taken to wearing nearing the end of her career. She took down every bottle that she had, indexed and organized her potions, and then picked out an array for combat and survival. When the sun was beginning to set, she dug up her rifle.

She’d buried it, but she’d buried it shallow. She supposed she had been fooling herself when she hoped that she’d never have to lay hands on it again. Ana cleared some space and laid the case on the table, holding her breath. Her thumbs dug into the seals, prying them open.

The case had been well-made. The rifle was in perfect condition, the light shining warmly over it. Ana brushed her fingers over the gun’s familiar contours, and let out her breath. The metal was cool, but seemed to almost hum, rich with history. She got a cleaning cloth, and meticulously checked, cleaned, and re-cleaned every part of it until the sun set, and the light faded into a pale, violet wash.

Ana heard nothing more from town, but sure enough, two guards and three horses met her at the entrance to the forest shortly after sunrise. If they were surprised at the rifle slung over her shoulder, they didn’t say anything.

“Be vigilant,” Ana said, swinging herself onto the riderless horse. “And stay together.” She lit a lantern, hung it from the horse’s tack, and, without another word, entered the forest.

They set a fast pace at first, as the damp earth had held the footprints well, and the trail was easy to follow. Ana urged the horse to go as fast as it safely could, and sometimes a little bit faster. 

They came to a bridge around noon, though “bridge” may have been too kind. It was a handful of dubious-looking planks laid across a stream. Ana looked at it, then got off her horse and inspected the ground. The tracks led up to the bridge. She tested the wood. It creaked and bowed ominously, but held.

Ana darted across and crouched down, lowering her head. The tracks continued on the other side. “Take the horses across,” she called over her shoulder. “Carefully.”

When they joined her on the opposite bank, Ana begrudgingly added, “We can take a break here.”

The trail became muddled not soon after, as the path turned increasingly rocky and grassy. The pace slowed as Ana frequently stopped to check the ground, the tracks becoming more and more difficult to pinpoint as time went on.

It was late afternoon when she shook her head. “We’ve gone too far.”

The guards exchanged a look. “How do you mean?”

“The tracks are gone.” Ana looked up and down the path, and then into the trees. “She left the path. Evidently, I did not notice where that was.”

And so they turned back, retracing their steps at a snail’s pace. When Ana finally, definitively picked up the trail, they were almost back at the bridge. She simply doubled back, scrutinizing the ground, searching desperately for any signs.

When dusk began to fall, Ana straightened to her full height and stood, watching the trees for a long minute. “Go home,” she said at last. There was a resigned weariness in her voice.

“What?”

“Go home.” Ana gathered the reins of her horse in one hand and re-lit the lantern, which had been put out when the sunlight had become bright enough to properly see by. “The people need you to keep them safe. I could not ask you to abandon your duty to go into the Wilds like this.”

There was a short silence. “What about you, ma’am?”

“I will be fine. I only need one horse and one set of supplies.” Ana waved the question off. “Please inform your captain, and make sure that my home is undisturbed while I am gone.”

The guards seemed taken aback. “I… we…” The senior of the two bowed his head. “Very well. Good luck… Alchemist.”

Ana’s lips curled into a faint, dry smile at the title. She was back in the Wilds, after all. She had better get used to it. “Good luck and safe travels,” she murmured.

***

The journey was slower than Ana would have liked. The winter snows and spring melt rendered the road especially treacherous at times, forcing her to pick her way across even slower than she might have gone if she were on foot. It took her a little over half a week to reach the nearest settlement—a town at the side of a small lake.

Here, Ana stopped for supplies and information. Some of the merchants had seen someone roughly matching Fareeha’s description pass through, but they offered little else. No one, it seemed, knew where she had gone, only that she had left quickly.

It was a fishmonger that gave Ana her first real clue. A person that sounded like it might have been Fareeha had mentioned that she was traveling north.

“Strange times,” the fishmonger said, brushing glittering scales off of his gloves. “Something’s going on up there. Seems to me that everyone and everything is coming out of hiding. All converging in that area.”

“Strange indeed,” Ana muttered.

“I even saw a will-o’-the-wisp, if you can believe it. Just across the lake,” he continued. “I thought those things were supposed to keep to swamps, but there it was, bright as anything. Zipping around and flickering all the time too, like it was agitated or something.”

“What color was it?”

“Pardon?”

Ana’s voice was quiet, her hood throwing shadows over her face. “The will-o’-the-wisp. What color?”

“Oh, uh…” The fishmonger scratched his neck. “Blue? Sky blue, about.”

Ana nodded, slowly. “Thank you.” She dropped him two coppers. He nodded gratefully.

Ana took the road north, setting out early the next morning. She took the first path east, turning onto a winding, shaded trail leading deeper into the Wilds. If she’d been hoping to pick up any footsteps, she would have been sorely disappointed. The trees overhanging the trail had left a thick carpet of needles over the path, obscuring all signs of traffic.

The path snaked east and north, slanting through the foothills. Ana traveled for as long as the light allowed, and sometimes longer, with the aid of her lantern. The road was clearly rarely traveled; Ana was alone.

One week in, she found herself riding well past dusk, searching for a suitable place to stop. The horse was tired, she could tell. She reached down to pat its neck, her eyes scanning the trees on either side.

It was well and fully dark by the time she found the clearing. It was small, and set back slightly from the road, mostly screened from sight by a line of trees. It was a popular stop, judging by the cleared patch of dirt and circle of stones in the center.

Ana set to work quickly, tying up and feeding the horse, building and lighting a small campfire, and laying out her supplies. She’d heard flowing water when she approached, and indeed found a stream a few minutes’ walk further back from the road. She went to get some water.

There was someone standing by the fire when she returned, silhouetted purple-black against the orange light. The horse, dozing placidly on the other side of the fire, didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. Ana stopped in her tracks, more exasperated than anything.

The Witch of the Wilds had her head turned away, idly staring into the flames. She held her hat in her hands. She glanced up and turned as Ana approached, looking her up and down. “Well well. Lost something, have you?” She dipped one gloved hand into her hat.

“Found something, have you?” Ana responded.

A small smile flickered across the Witch’s lips. She drew something from her hat, roughly the size and shape of a coin. Ana could see it shining dully in the flickering light as she toyed with it between her fingers. “Nothing happens here without my knowing, you know that.” She flipped the coin into the air and caught it again. “I was under the impression that I would never see you again.”

“That was the plan,” Ana said, dryly.

“Oh, you wound me.” 

There was a silence as Ana studied the Witch, and the Witch studied her coin. “What have you done to her?”

“Me?” The Witch shrugged. “Nothing.”

Another silence. Ana watched the coin roll between the Witch’s fingers. “I see you’ve gotten into party tricks.”

“They’re fun, don’t you think?”

Ana scoffed. “Where is she?”

“Ah ah,” the Witch said. “You know the rules.”

Ana’s strained, but patient gaze turned icy. “No.”

The Witch looked her in the eye and smiled. “That’s a shame.” She closed her fist around the coin. “How have you been, by the way? Is that eye still giving you trouble?”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm. Retirement has been treating you well?”

“It would be, if I had my daughter back.”

“Made some new friends, hm? Or have you kept in touch with the old ones?” The near-pity in the Witch’s voice said that she already knew the answer. “Such an unfortunate business, you know…”

“If you truly cared,” Ana said, unslinging her rifle from around her chest, jabbing the tip into the ground, and leaning heavily on it, a sudden, deep, sad exhaustion in her bones, “you would let him go.”

The Witch clicked her tongue. “That’s between me and him. He made his choice. A witch keeps her word, and holds others to their own.” She threw Ana a lazy look. “Though it might not be impossible to work out another arrangement…”

That gave Ana pause. She had heard the eye offer before, and she had been prepared to scour the whole land for her daughter. But now, a different, older hope dangled in front of her. She had to clench her fists to stop her trembling. She shook her head, hair loosening from where she had wrapped it loosely around her neck. “No.” Her voice was hoarse. Ana tried again, stronger this time. “No. I will not make any deals with _ you._”

The Witch seemed truly disappointed. “That’s a shame.” She sighed, and lowered her voice. “Imagine what we could have done together…”

“Imagine what you would have done with me, you mean.” Ana’s voice was harsh.

The Witch looked over Ana’s face, a faint, perpetual smile on her lips. She held out her hand horizontally from her side, over the fire. It was the one that held the coin. “Well then, I suppose I must respect your decision,” she said. “If you want to get your daughter back…”

Ana’s eye narrowed. “What are you—”

“Go fetch.” The Witch opened her hand, dropping the coin into the fire. Ana watched it fall. It flashed green as it burst into flames, disappearing into the pile of wood.

Ana narrowed her eye, trying to ignore the sudden stab of anxiety in her stomach. “What game are you playing?”

“The same as always.” The Witch turned her head, back to watching the fire.

“You know, you could earn people’s undying loyalty if you just did things for them without demanding something in return.”

“Oh,” The Witch said quietly. “How I wish that were true.”

Ana just shook her head. 

The Witch smoothed her hair back and swept her hat onto her head. “Regardless, I do have other matters to attend to.” She nodded. “Welcome back, Alchemist. I’ll see you around.”

“I hope not,” Ana replied flatly.

The Witch smiled, in a way that felt more like she was baring her teeth than smiling. Ana blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, the Witch was gone.

Ana sidled up to the fire. She peered into it, but she all she could see was blackened wood and white ash. She picked up a stick and dug it into the pile, stirring the embers. She could still see nothing in the fire.

Ana set aside her uneasiness. The Witch didn’t usually meddle overmuch, not without a deal. Party tricks, she told herself. Simple, harmless party tricks.

In the morning, Ana picked up the stick again and pulled apart the remains of the fire, which she had allowed to burn down to coals as she slept. She saw a fleck of something shiny near the center. Ana dug it out with the stick, pulse quickening.

It had been chipped and burned, but the shape was mostly intact. It was a token, carved roughly out of wood and painted gold, just enough to fool the eye in the dark. On one side was a crown. On the other, a wolf head. Ana turned it over in her fingers, and then wordlessly pocketed it.


	3. III.

Fareeha ducked behind a tree, trying to catch her breath. She pressed a hand to her side, wincing at the warm wetness that she felt. Just when the bruising had finally gone away, she thought gloomily. She peeked around the trunk of the tree, squinting into the darkness.

Something moved between the trees. Fareeha cursed silently. The bear was huge, black, and, judging by the look in its eyes and its recent habit of terrorizing livestock and travelers alike, absolutely mad. Getting stabbed a few times had simply served to make it angry. Fareeha supposed that was fair.

Fareeha gritted her teeth. The wound was fairly shallow, despite the amount of blood now coating her hand. If she returned back to town and sought treatment quickly, it should heal well. If she lingered for too long, it became somewhat risky. The reward money on that bear’s head would be nice for paying for that treatment, though.

Fareeha thought it over, then hefted her sword. “Come on, bastard,” she muttered. “Come get me.”

The bear pricked its small ears, advanced a few more paces, then charged. It barreled through the undergrowth, unflinching even in the face of the Wild’s famously fearsome brambles. Fareeha lifted her sword and took a few deep breaths.

She ducked out of the way, using the tree as a shield. The bear charged past, claws scrabbling in the wet leaves as it struggled to turn its bulk around. It bellowed, spittle flying, and shook its shoulders, huffing at the new cut opened in its side.

The blood on Fareeha’s blade looked black in the twilight. She squared her shoulders and shifted her feet, watching the bear warily. She could tell something was off. It seemed unsteady on its feet, and it kept shaking its head every once in a while. A flash of pity shot through Fareeha. What was happening right now wasn’t really its fault.

That didn’t change the fact that it needed to go. The bear pawed the ground, huffing, and paced back and forth.

Fareeha lifted her sword, the blade flashing in the little bit of moonlight slanting through the trees. The bear stared at it, and flattened its ears. It charged again.

Fareeha ducked out of the way, nicking the bear in the foreleg as it passed. She whirled, ready to face it down again, but the bear didn’t stop. It went galloping into the trees, emboldened by the amount of space it had put between it and her.

Fareeha swore under her breath. She took off after it, following the trail of snapped branches and stems. She would not be able to catch up to a bear at full sprint, not even an injured one, but she still wanted to end this quickly.

It was retreating back to its den—or at least in the direction of it. Fareeha had tracked it there that morning, planned her approach, and set things into action in the late afternoon. Now, the sky was swiftly darkening, bringing with it the chill of nighttime. Fareeha cursed again. 

When she finally reached the den, the bear was crouched inside, its small eyes glaring out from the shadows. It rumbled low in its throat.

“I’m sorry, for the record,” Fareeha said, her voice quiet. “You should have just stayed away.”

The bear glared malevolently at her. Its flanks and back were now protected, sheltered by the earth and stone. The only way forward was into its teeth and claws.

Fareeha wished she had a crossbow. Or a gun. Or a regular bow. The bear had the longer reach, and enough strength in one swat to break her bones. She would have to wait.

Fareeha looked around, and circled the den, keeping a wide berth. She scrambled up the slope, and crouched down above the den, just far enough to see the lip of its entrance. She could hear the bear breathing heavily.

Fareeha settled down to wait, trying her best to bandage herself up in the rapidly-settling darkness in the interim. The bear, it seemed, was doing the rough approximate, settling down. Licking its wounds, perhaps. Saliva promotes healing, Fareeha thought idly. It also acts as both an antibacterial and painkiller. Ana had taught her that.

At the thought of her mother, Fareeha winced. Ana was heartbroken, she knew. Her mother had a long memory, and despite all her wry comments about retirement and vacation time, Fareeha had always gotten the impression that she had been lonely, especially in more recent years. Her old friends had stopped visiting when Fareeha was still young. Now, even her daughter had left her.

Fareeha shook herself, pushing away the guilt gnawing at her heart. She needed to focus. The sun had fully set by now. Fareeha wriggled, pulling her jacket closer against the cold. She tried to quiet her breathing, listening intently.

Judging by the height of the moon, it was around midnight when the bear finally stirred, snuffling and pawing at the earth. It groaned softly. Fareeha heard it shift around. She craned her neck, eyes straining to make something out in the light of the half moon.

She held still, breathing shallowly as she watched a square nose and long snout poke out of the den. The rest of the broad head and small, fuzzy ears followed. Fareeha curled her legs, slowly bringing herself to a crouch. The bear grunted, swinging its massive head around.

It noticed her just a second before she struck, its teeth missing her arm by a finger’s width. Fareeha’s heart skipped a beat, but she had the opportunity and leverage that she wanted, and adrenaline was running high in her veins.

It was a messy job, all the same. The bear’s fur was thick and coarse, protecting its already tough hide. Fareeha had to struggle to get a deep enough cut, all while trying to hold on and avoid the bear’s teeth. If it managed to knock her to the ground, she was dead. She grit her teeth and dug in.

The bear managed to throw her off with one particularly fierce shake, ripping the sword out of her hands. Fareeha hit the ground hard, her breath knocked from her lungs on impact. She rolled, ignoring the rocks digging into her shoulder, and tried to clamber to her feet, muscles screaming. She faltered, and collapsed.

The bear took one tottering step, let out a quiet, almost mournful moan, and fell. They watched each other, woman and bear, neither strong enough to get up. The difference was, one eventually stopped breathing.

Fareeha struggled to her feet, wincing. She wiped away some of the blood and dirt from her face with the back of her hand. She was limping when she stood up.

Fareeha approached the bear slowly, still wary of its long, stained claws and yellowed teeth. It didn’t move. She stood just out of reach, looking it over. She couldn’t hear any breathing, and she couldn’t see its flanks moving either, but the night was dark, and she was reluctant to gamble her life on it.

She eventually settled on the sword, the pommel of which shone very slightly in the moonlight. It was still. She watched it for a long time, before closing the distance.

Fareeha tugged her sword free with a grunt, her palms still stinging from the hilt having been so violently ripped from her grip. She shook the sword, flicking blood across the ground.

She should probably take something back to prove that the bear was dead. Fareeha turned her head, peering into the den. She saw nothing but bare earth, some straggling roots, and some stones, but the air felt thick and charged back there. Fareeha decided she would deal with that in the morning. She looked at the bear. A head or pelt would probably work as indisputable evidence. The hide might even be worth something, even with all the holes she’d put in it. She decided that she would deal with that in the morning as well.

Instead, Fareeha sat down, groaning softly in relief as the stress and fear finally left her body. She leaned against the bear’s massive flank and reached out, awkwardly patting the bristly fur. “Sorry again,” she muttered. “For sticking a sword in your neck. That must have been unpleasant.”

“Most people don’t apologize to wild animals, you know.”

Fareeha sat up, eyes widening, sheer panic shooting through her chest. She saw the signature flickering golden-orange of a lantern out of the corner of her eye. “I thought it would be the polite thing to do,” she said, remarkably calmly.

“Do forgive us for intruding,” the voice said, smoothly. “That was a rather violent fight.”

Fareeha turned her head. Whoever it was held the lantern low. She couldn't make out a face, but she saw no armor. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword in her lap. “Did I disturb you?” It was strange attire for the night, especially this deep in the woods.

“Not at all.” The figure lifted the lantern, and Fareeha’s heart stopped for a moment. She had light skin and paler hair, sweeping across her face under the curve of a wide hat brim. The globe of firelight glittered in her eyes, her earrings, and at the base of her throat. It touched the deep red of fabric over her shoulder, the gold detailing around her collar. She smiled. “You could say I’m used to this sort of thing.”

“Ah.” Fareeha’s mind was whirling. “You’re… The Witch of the Wilds.”

“Yes.” She said it so nonchalantly. “That’s what they usually call me.” She took a step closer, holding the lantern out. She looked Fareeha up and down. “And you…”

“Fareeha.” Fareeha took a deep breath, trying to quell her anxiety. The Witch didn’t seem hostile, not yet. It seemed unwise to lie. “Amari.” She thought she heard a scoff somewhere in the darkness.

“The Alchemist’s daughter.” The Witch’s eyes lingered on Fareeha’s, no doubt focusing on her tattoo. Of course. The titles and epithets of the Wild held deep significance—If a person was accomplished enough to earn one, it was considered disrespectful for any outside of close friends and family to use their personal name.

Fareeha nodded tersely. It had felt disingenuous to cover the tattoo up, and the idea of simply calling her mother “Ana” to a stranger here was even more galling. She had mostly just hoped that no one would ask after her mother.

“You must be tired of hearing that.”

Fareeha shrugged. “It doesn’t come up often. At all. The identity of a stranger’s mother is not a standard topic of conversation.” Much like the bear and its den, Fareeha’s mind had decided to deal with this whole witch business later. Had she been more alert, she might have been less flippant, but she was tired.

Curiously, the Witch didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she nodded at the bear. “Following in her footsteps, I see. That was a fearsome foe.”

Fareeha snorted. “My mother would have shot it and been back in time for tea.”

“She was young once too, you know. She had to learn what she knows.” The Witch turned back to Fareeha. “You have the same determination. We haven’t seen that in some time.”

A voice growled from the shadows. “Adventurer.” It dripped with disdain.

The Witch looked over her shoulder. “Done skulking around in the shadows, are we?”

Two flaming points and a jagged, carved grin of a mouth appeared in the darkness. The pumpkin head glared down at Fareeha from just behind and to the right of the Witch. Its expression didn’t change, but Fareeha got the distinct impression that it was scowling. It turned to the Witch. “We are wasting our time.”

“You’re not the one that gets to decide that,” the Witch replied. She made a quieting gesture with one hand, closing the thumb and fingers and tracing an arc in the air. “Now, unless you have something more pertinent to say, be quiet. Go keep a watch, if you want.”

The pumpkin was positively fuming now, its anger simmering in the air. But, it said nothing, instead turning away and disappearing back into the darkness.

“He seems nice,” Fareeha said.

“He’s not in a good mood, but then again, he rarely is,” the Witch said cheerfully. “Don’t take it personally.”

From somewhere in the night, the voice growled. “It _ is _personal.”

The Witch turned over her shoulder. “What did I just say?”

“It was pertinent.”

“It’s not helpful.”

Fareeha looked between the two (or, at least between the Witch and the approximate place that she thought the Reaper’s voice was emanating from). “We haven’t met.” Her voice was more tired than anything.

“No,” the Witch said. “It’s his problem, not yours.” The darkness seemed to become noticeably gloomier, if that were possible.

“Alright, well.” Fareeha lifted her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “There’s not much I can do, then. Sorry.” She nodded into the shadows. She received a brusque snarl in reply. Fareeha leaned back again. “May I ask you something?”

“And receive an honest answer? That depends.”

Fareeha closed her eyes and cocked her head towards the back of the bear’s den. She sighed deeply through her nose. “Who did that?”

“It’s not my work, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Well, it’s hardly the bear’s.” Fareeha cracked open an eye. “Is it?”

“No,” the Witch replied. “It’s not the bear’s doing.”

“That would have made my job easier.” Fareeha tilted her head in the other direction. “On the other hand, a bear that could also use magic would be awful.”

“It would be.” The Witch gave her a curious look. “Why are you so interested in this?”

“That bear was acting strangely. I figure this is why.” Fareeha shrugged again. “If someone or something is out here driving the wildlife mad, I should try to fix that.”

“That’s an interesting job to take on. In my experience, people chalk it up to nature when an animal becomes violent.”

“Oh, I was hired to kill the bear, nothing more,” Fareeha said. “I just don’t think I could leave these people if I knew that they were in danger, and that I could have done something about it.”

“Leaving?”

“I’m travelling north.” Fareeha vaguely realized that telling her might not have been the best idea. “I’ve just been stopping to pick up odd jobs on the way.”

“I see. In that case…” The Witch nodded towards the den. “You’re right, that is a curse. Weak to middling, I’d say. Not intended for humans, especially since they can usually tell when something is wrong, but anything that stays in its radius for too long will eventually succumb to it. It appears to have been laid by a local spirit. She _ is _fond of experimenting like this.”

Fareeha nodded. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

“Of course.”

There was a brief silence. “Isn’t that kind of cruel?” Fareeha frowned. “Experimenting on living animals?”

“Sure.”

There was another moment of quiet. “So, you know her?”

“Hm?”

“This ‘local spirit’.”

“I know a lot of people.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Fareeha hummed thoughtfully. “So, if I were to ask really nicely… could you perhaps… convince her to remove her curse—or curses—and leave? Stop bothering people just trying to live their lives, and all that.”

“Hmm…” The Witch tapped her chin. “Depends. What would you give me?”

“My deepest gratitude?” Fareeha said. “Actually, she doesn’t even have to remove anything. I’ll figure that part out myself.”

“Your gratitude?” The Witch smiled.

“For ever and ever,” Fareeha mumbled. She wanted to go to sleep. Or at least take a nap. “Unless you do something like… I don’t know.”

“My, what a worthy thing you’ve offered me.” The Witch’s smile quirked into more of an easy grin. “Very well. I’ll put in a word with her, but it is still up to her if she decides to heed it.”

“Sounds very reasonable.”

“On a different topic…” The Witch looked Fareeha over again. “Those injuries of yours look like they hurt.”

“They look worse than they are.” That was almost a lie. Fareeha shifted her shoulder, as if to prove it, and winced. “I’ll live.”

“You know, I could help…”

Fareeha blinked open her eyes to find the Witch watching her. Something about it reminded her of the way a hawk watched a mouse. Her mother had had the same look in her eye when she was taking aim, the few times she’d ever seen her shoot. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure? It will be difficult to get back to town in this state.”

“Mhm.” Fareeha stretched, and groaned. She knew she was holding her arm very awkwardly. “If I make a stupid choice, like hunting a bear armed with nothing more than a shortsword, I should have to live with the consequences.”

The Reaper snorted again. Fareeha threw a curious look in his direction. She’d almost forgotten that he was there. Listening.

“You really are very much like her,” the Witch said softly. Her smile had faded, leaving the expression on her face unreadable. Nevertheless, she politely inclined her head. “Very well. In that case, I believe our conversation is over.” When she looked up, her eyes had softened a little bit. “Good luck. I do hope to see you again.”

Fareeha inclined her head as well, and murmured a farewell. She closed her eyes, and waited until the night fell silent once more.

Fareeha got the faint impression that she had disappointed the Witch when she was gone. And, more strangely, that made her just a little bit… sad.

She returned days later, having collected her reward, visited a local doctor, and rested up. Even though the body was gone—in order to keep scavengers away from the curse, Fareeha had coaxed her very nervous horse into helping her move the carcass—the smell of death still lingered in the air. Still, that was all that there was. The magic was gone. The Witch had kept her word.

Again, the thought made Fareeha strangely sad.


	4. IV.

Ana watched the people hurry by from under the awning. It was raining again—a light, cold, miserable rain that no one was particularly keen on lingering in. Across the square, she could see a group of people huddled around something—the local guard station, where odd jobs and recruitment information was often nailed to one of the wooden posts.

Ana watched as the people seemed to debate among themselves. One shook his head, pulled his hood up against the rain, and walked away. The rest followed, albeit some more reluctant than others. They broke into smaller groups of two or three, heads together. Muttering about something.

Ana waited until she was sure the area was clear, before pulling her cloak closer around herself and stepping into the rain. It slid off her cloak, splashed against her boots, and misted her face. She cut a direct path across the square, eye squinted against the water.

Something new had been added to the slightly soggy collection of notices and notes. Ana could tell from the glint of the new nail, freshly driven into the wood, and the brightness of the paper, not yet yellowed and ragged from the weather. It bore an imperious-looking seal, and the script was written in a large, yet elegant hand. The bold number at the bottom stared up at her. A large reward, for a very large challenge.

“Are you thinking about it?”

Ana tilted her head, just enough to glimpse the man that had crept up to her elbow while she was reading. She said nothing.

The man shook his head. “If you ask me, it’s impossible.”

“No,” Ana replied curtly.

The man continued on, seemingly oblivious to Ana’s sour mood. “I feel bad for them, you know. You’d have to be the stuff of legends to save them.”

Ana stood in silence until he coughed awkwardly, excused himself under his breath, and left her alone again. She turned her attention back to the paper. He was right. The job had an allure of both money and glory, and a danger to match. Her eye scanned over the information again.

Adlersbrunn. It wasn’t far off the path that she had been planning to take, anyways.

***

The mask’s black, gently curved surface gleamed in the torchlight. Ana contemplatively ran one gloved thumb over its surface. The night was quiet. One could almost call it peaceful.

There was a reluctance rising in Ana’s chest as she looked down at the mask in her hands. She could still turn around. Go back to the home that she had spent years cultivating and protecting. Back to the life that she had spent decades fighting to achieve.

But she would be going back without her daughter.

She had started wearing the largely featureless masks after her eye had been shot out near the end of her career. It had originally been to hide the eye—not because of vanity, but because Ana had feared that people would lose trust in her. She had found the only other solution presented to her unacceptable. In time, she had collected more masks, and her habit of wearing them had developed into a symbol of their own right among those that knew her well enough. Like the gun, she had hoped that they would never be used again. Like the gun, some part of her always knew that was too much to hope for.

It was why she had brought this one, after all.

Ana considered it for another long minute, then sighed, and flipped it over, bringing it up gently to her face. It was cool, and smooth. Almost nostalgic.

Ana snuffed the torch and campfire, leaving only the small lantern hooked to the horse’s saddle to light the way. She closed her bag and swung herself back up onto the horse, nudging it to a careful walk, breaking into a full gallop once they hit the road. There was no time to waste.

Shortly after midnight, Ana turned a corner to see the trees give way to stone walls, rising high into the sky, their dark masses blotting out the stars. Flecks of firelight glimmered at the base, illuminating the large, heavy gates and the tall, faintly shining spears of the accompanying guards. Ana slowed her horse to a walk as she approached.

One of the guards lifted his lamp, widening the globe of light. “Who goes there?”

Ana emerged from the darkness, and the guard blinked. She could see his eyes darting over the firelight glinting orange on her mask, the steel-grey hair looped loosely around her neck and nestled under her coat, the long gun strapped across her back, and the bandolier of shimmering golden vials across her chest. He swallowed, eyes darting from side to side as if to seek help from his companions.

To his credit, he kept to protocol. “Who are you?” He asked, “and what is your business in Adlersbrunn?”

“I am the Alchemist,” Ana replied. “I am here to offer my assistance.”

***

“So,” McCree said, lighting a cigar and scratching at his scruffy beard, “only four insane adventurers close enough to make it in time.” His drawl marked him as a westerner, from across the ocean. He had introduced himself as a monster hunter, and gave only a surname to identify himself by.

“Do not lump me in with you,” was the curt reply. The archer, who had stiffly introduced himself as Hanzo and had spent the rest of the time scowling at everyone, was the opposite, hailing from the far east. He liked no one, and did not expect to be liked.

The last one that had responded to the call for help was equally prickly and taciturn. He glared at everyone, but mostly at Ana. Ana, whose expression was completely covered by her mask, gave him only a small nod before ignoring him completely.

“I’m right, though.” McCree gestured with the cigar, leaving skeins of pungent smoke in the air. “This whole thing reeks of deep magic. Getting tangled up in it’s a veritable suicide mission.”

“And yet you are here.”

McCree shrugged. “Sure.”

“Deep magic,” Ana murmured. All eyes turned to her. She had said little since arriving. “That means…”

There was a short, cold silence. McCree grunted. “Witch. I asked around when I got here. Few folks saw that slaughter and lived to tell the tale.” He put the cigar to his lips and took a deep draw. “Ones that did say they saw her. Standing around. Watching.”

Ana exhaled deeply through her nose. “Old evil backing the new.”

McCree nodded in agreement. “Hell of a fight we’ve got ahead of us.”

“Then let’s stop sitting around chatting,” the Soldier growled, “and actually prepare. Half the damn town’s dead, and the other half is going to join them by tomorrow morning if we don’t hurry the fuck up.”

A heavy silence fell upon the room.

Hanzo inclined his head, the dim light sliding over his salt and pepper hair. “I concur.”

***

The stairs were steep, spiralling up in a tight curve. It was dark, broken only by thin shafts of milky light creeping through tiny, narrow slots in the wall. Ana stopped once, about halfway up, to look out, taking in a grey, motionless, town. Even the tall, dark evergreen trees and massive windmills outside the walls seemed to stand still. The whole valley was holding its breath, waiting until nightfall.

The safe zone had been steadily diminishing since that first bloody night, with people retreating inwards towards the castle as new fortifications were erected almost as fast as they were torn down. Tonight, the remaining defenses would fall once the horde of monsters awoke, and then they would descend from all sides upon the remaining survivors.

Ana looked up, turning her attention back to climbing.

There was a narrow door at the top of the tower. Ana braced her shoulder against it and pushed it open, the wood whispering against stone.

She stepped out onto a walkway, wide enough to comfortably fit three people across. It curved around and even further up. Ana followed it until she stepped onto the flat roof of the tower. She placed her hand on the battlement, and looked out over the land unfolding below her. There was a cold, brisk wind up here, pulling at her hair and cloak.

She knew who it was when she heard the door and the footsteps. She did not turn to look when he stepped up to her side.

“Good view,” the Soldier—_ Jack _ said, gruffly. “Clear shot all the way to the gate.”

Ana nodded. “Though I suspect I will have to be on the ground for this.”

They both fell silent for a while.

“I thought you retired,” he said, his voice so soft that it was in danger of being drowned out by the wind.

“It seems there are more fights left for me yet,” Ana said. “I hope this will be the last.”

Jack snorted. “Good luck with that.” He hesitated, then. “The Witch. You know this means…”

“I know.” Ana folded her arms. “That’s why I said I hope this will be the last.”

“Did you come all the way out here for him?”

Ana shook her head. “No,” she said, softly.

Jack turned his head. “Suppose it wouldn’t have taken this long.”

“No,” Ana said again, softer this time. To her credit, she sounded sorry. “But it did take me a few years to find out, if that makes you feel better.”

Jack grunted. If he disapproved, he didn’t say it. “So if even that couldn’t bring you back out here…”

“… What could?” Ana smiled mirthlessly beneath her mask. “Care to guess?”

“No.”

Ana let out a sharp laugh. “Fair enough.” Her attitude quickly turned grim. “It’s Fareeha.”

“Your daughter? Something happen to her?”

“She left.” Ana kept her eyes fixed on the horizon. “One night.”

“You mean she ran away.” Ana didn’t refute it. “You ever consider that maybe you should let her do what she really wants? I remember she was a headstrong kid. Seems bound to happen some—”

“Stop.” Ana cut him off flatly. “You said so yourself; you understand what’s coming for us tonight. I fought so that others wouldn’t have to experience things like this.”

“Because you would have been miserable watching from the sidelines. She’s a lot like you.”

“Too much like me.” Ana trailed off, and was silent for a long time. “I just want to keep her safe,” she whispered. “I need to find her. It doesn’t matter what happens after that.”

Jack inclined his head in wordless acknowledgement.

“She left this spring.”

That gave Jack pause. “That’s a long time to be out here alone.”

Ana nodded. “I don’t know if she’s alone,” she added, halfheartedly. Travelling in a group had its own unique challenges, after all. They would have been easier to track, for one.

“Well,” Jack said, “Someone will have heard something.”

Again, Ana nodded. “Someone, or something.”

***

Time seemed to slow when she got hit with that last dart. The Witch staggered under the force of it, her eyes widening, the green flame in them flickering for a heartbeat. She turned her head, seeking out the one that had struck her, and bared her teeth in a silent snarl. But she could do nothing. The night itself seemed to waver and clear as the Witch of the Wilds fell, retreating into the same darkness that she had come from.

Ana watched with a grim, vindictive satisfaction. On all the occasions in which they had encountered each other before, the Witch had never won. Never using manipulation, and now, never using violence. Ana had seen the hatred burning in those eyes. The Witch was not used to being defied. She would be back.

And Ana would be waiting for her.

For now, however, the work was not over yet. The Witch had been sustaining the fight for far longer than otherwise it would have been, and even now the last remnants of her power revitalized her allies. Ana methodically picked her next target, lined up the shot, and pulled the trigger.

It was inevitable. The source of the magic was gone. One by one, they were defeated. The forces of the night retreated, leaving the mad doctor and his grotesque creations to die for good, beaten, bloody, and broken.

Ana felt a pang of sadness when she saw the doctor’s body hit the wood. He had been only a man. A desperate man who had made a bad deal, like so many others had done before him. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts away.

“Everyone alive?” Ana looked around, her voice rasping. She coughed, and wrinkled her nose against the stench of blood and machinery.

“More or less.” McCree hopped down from the ledge he had been shooting from. He eyed the huge, green body of the Monster warily, and nudged it with his boot. The eyes remained glassy and lifeless. “What the fuck,” he muttered.

“One would think you would be used to it by now.” Hanzo followed him, dropping to the ground in one graceful bound.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“We killed the one that made it,” Jack said flatly. “It’s over.”

“Not sure about that.” McCree scratched his head. “Witch ain’t dead. I reckon she’s still got a debt she’s looking to collect.”

“I figured that was the hordes of people that thing slaughtered before the town could scramble together a safe zone.”

“I dunno, from the way it’s told, the good doctor up there was planning on doing this the whole time. And she wouldn’t have shown up to fight if she didn’t have a stake in what was going on.” McCree shrugged. “In any case, I’d recommend burning the bodies down to powder and burying them as deep as possible. Might not stop her, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Our job in cleanup is to kill or destroy anything that’s left,” Hanzo replied. “Nothing more.”

McCree thought about that for a moment. “I could go for a drink,” he said at last.

“Finish the job first,” Jack growled.

Ana, for her part, chuckled. “But I’m sure no one would complain too much if we were to appropriate the wine cellar.”

“Or one of the pubs, you think?” McCree asked hopefully. “Machines don’t have much interest in whiskey, right?”

“Or beer,” Jack added, relenting.

Hanzo just scoffed.

Ana shrugged. “Clear the town, and we can go find out.”

***

The Witch caught herself with her broom before she hit the floor. She crumpled to her knees, breathless with shock. And rage. Rage lancing through her veins, roaring in her ears. It coiled around her heart, hot and cold and _ infuriatingly— _

She took a deep breath, and lifted a hand of her face, fingers curling inwards into claws, a small light swirling to life in her palm. She was shaking. The Witch clenched her fist, strangling the light. She screamed.

She was spent by the time the Reaper rejoined her, coalescing out of the shadows. Her breathing was heavy, her voice rough and raw. Her hand had moved down to the ground, fingers scratching restlessly into the carpet of damp needles. The Reaper looked down at her. She could feel his judgement.

“You underestimated them,” he rasped.

“Next time,” she hissed.

“Next time?” She could hear the sneer in his voice. “No, you should hope that there will be no next time. You face them again, you risk defeat. The alternatives are cutting your losses and backing off, or going after them when they’ve been separated. Either way, you look like a coward.” His words crackled in the air. “You’ve lost.” The words lay unspoken in the air. _ You’ve made yourself look weak. _

The Witch was silent for some time, eyes turned down, fingers still digging into the ground. “No,” she whispered. “Not yet. There are more ways than one to take away a victory.” She suddenly smiled. “Isn’t that what I do best?”

If the Reaper could scowl, he would have. “What?”

“To know their greatest wishes,” the Witch said softly. “To know what would hurt the most.” She lifted her hand, brushing over the needles, smoothing away the furrows that she had dug. “Loneliness. Monotony. Helplessness. It’ll do for the three, but _ her…_” She pressed her palm to the ground, letting out a light breath. “Can you guess?”

The Reaper was silent.

“Come now, it’s easy. What is the one thing that would _ destroy _the Alchemist?” She waited, and cocked her head. “You’re not scared, are you? After all this time?”

Again, the Reaper did not reply, but he did slowly clench his fists.

“The answer is so obvious,” she said softly, her mind already beginning to weave the pieces of a plan together. “I’m going to make sure her daughter never returns home.”

“She’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth if you kill her daughter,” the Reaper hissed. He seemed nervous.

“Kill her? No, I would never. Who do you take me for?”

The Reaper hesitated. “A witch,” he said, a rare tinge of uncertainty in his voice.

“_The _ Witch,” she corrected. “And I will always get the last laugh.”


	5. V.

For a moment, Fareeha just stood there. Then, reluctantly, she lifted her sword, the point flashing in the darkness. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be fighting you,” she muttered.

The Witch, standing just out of reach, eyed the blade with what could only be described as vague amusement. “Why is that?”

Fareeha sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be evil?”

The Witch’s eyes flicked up, green sparking in their depths. “Am I?”

“You’re…” Fareeha trailed off, searching for the right words. “My mother always said…”

The Witch tilted her head. “Is that right? And now that you’ve met me, what do you think?”

Fareeha looked away. “That maybe she was wrong.”

The Witch smiled. “Thank you. Please, put the sword down.”

Fareeha studied her. She lowered the blade slowly, but put it away almost with a note of relief when the Witch didn’t move.

“Come,” the Witch said, extending a dark-gloved hand. “I want to show you something.”

Fareeha hesitated only a moment, then reached out, grasping her hand and allowing herself to be helped up onto the ledge of dark, crumbling stone that the Witch stood on. Here, again, the stories were wrong. They’d always said that the Witch of the Wilds was inhuman, yet here, she was anything but. The gloves were soft and cool, and the dark, faint scent of pine trees filled her nose.

“Let’s walk.” The Witch nodded up the slope, into the darkness beneath the trees. Still holding Fareeha’s hand, she picked out a path. A game trail, perhaps, worn down by generations of foraging deer. “Careful of the rocks,” she murmured, motes of light flickering to life as she spoke, just bright enough to illuminate the path, just faint enough to leave the rest of the forest cloaked in shadow.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I had to fight,” Fareeha muttered, more to herself than anything. The Witch turned her head just slightly, a smile touching her lips. “I probably would have lost.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure of that. I’m not much of a fighter.”

Fareeha scoffed, slightly. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve survived for so long.”

“I have friends.” The Witch shrugged. “And I don’t die easily. That’s all.”

“And yet people are scared of you.”

“Certainly. But not because of my combat prowess.” The Witch looked Fareeha up and down out of the corner of her eye. “I never really learned to fight, but you look like you did.”

Fareeha inclined her head. “I trained with the local guard where I grew up.”

“I see.” The Witch looked to the sword. “Did they give that to you?”

“I… sort of.” Fareeha laughed guiltily. “Well, yes. I asked.”

“It’s an interesting choice for a guard. I’ve always thought most preferred a little bit of a longer reach, at the very least.”

“It’s good for clearing paths and doesn’t need to be reloaded.”

“Fair enough.” The Witch reached up, holding a low-hanging branch out of the way. “I must admit I am impressed. You have not chosen an easy path.”

“No, but a worthwhile one, I hope.” Fareeha ducked under the branch, mouthing a quick thanks.

“Mm. You picked a good time, in any case. Things are… happening.” The Witch sucked in a sharp breath. “The Wilds are alive with potential. I can feel it.”

Fareeha looked at her thoughtfully, and didn’t comment. Instead, she peered up the path. “Where are we going?”

“The top of the ridge.”

Fareeha supposed that she had little reason to distrust her. The path was steep, snaking up the slope. At times a small stream ran parallel to it, revealed by the rippling reflections of the Witch’s lights. The water was black in the night, like dark, twisting crystal. It was almost silent among the fallen leaves, giving way to the rustling of branches in the wind and faint, steady chirps of cricket song.

The night air was occasionally punctuated by the sound of some other nocturnal animal, rustling in the bushes or flapping through the trees. At one point, an owl hooted in the distance. Fareeha stopped to listen, an air of curiosity and wonder in her expression.

“Eagle-owl.” Fareeha looked over to see the Witch a few steps ahead, looking back with a small smile on her face.

“Some of the largest owls in the world, aren’t they?”

The Witcher smile widened, genuine delight brightening her expression. “Yes. They have the most beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve never seen one up close.” Fareeha tore her gaze away from the dark trees. “I prefer to leave wildlife alone.”

For a minute, she couldn’t figure out why the Witch looked like she was trying not to laugh. Then realization and sheepish guilt flooded her face. “If possible, I mean…”

The Witch laughed out loud at that. “Oh, I understand. We all do what we must.” She stopped, raising a hand. “Up here. This is the hardest part.” She pointed, and the lights followed her finger. They illuminated a small waterfall, the source of that stream. It was more of a trickle than anything, but the slope had become steep, and the rocks, leaves, and moss looked slippery.

However, it was a short climb. It didn’t take long for Fareeha to scramble up. The ground levelled off significantly at the top. She turned, peering back over the ledge

“Here.” The Witch looked up, blinking in surprise. Fareeha reached down, extending a hand. “It’s slipperier than it looks.”

The Witch looked at the proferred hand. She seemed to hesitate, but inclined her head, and reached up to accept. “Thank you.”

“You have an interesting choice in hiking wear.” Fareeha gave the heels a pointed look as she pulled her up.

The Witch shrugged, and didn’t refute it. Instead, she nodded at the trail, continuing into the trees. It was overgrown; more a line of gaps between the trees than anything. She patted Fareeha’s arm, and tugged her sleeve. “Come. Not far now.”

Fareeha allowed herself to be pulled along, somewhat amusedly. The Witch’s touch was light. “You’re alone tonight,” she noted.

“I am. What of it?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised.”

The Witch slowed in her pace, and turned a look over her shoulder. “Why is that? The Reaper and I are not particularly fond of each others’ company, and he doesn’t exactly need to follow me everywhere.”

Fareeha didn’t ask why she kept him around. She knew why. “That’s a dangerous way to live,” she said.

The Witch raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” Then, she shook her head. “Nevermind that; it’s gloomy talk for a night so lovely.” She resumed her previous pace. Fareeha lapsed into silence. She was right, after all. It was a lovely night.

The forest brightened as they ascended, the trees growing further and further apart as the sky brightened from blue-black to grey, the stars slowly winking out from east to west. The Witch extinguished her lights as soon as they became unnecessary. Her steps grew quicker, then slower, nervous and flighty. Fareeha caught her glancing back more than a few times.

They emerged onto a ledge of pale sandstone. Fareeha slipped out from under the feathery shadows of the tree boughs, blinking. The sun had not yet risen, but the light was still just a little bit bright to her eyes. She looked around, and then forward, her breath catching in her throat.

The ledge overlooked a soft, green valley, encircled by mountainous ridges on three sides. There was a haze of mist in the deepest folds, twining in and out of the verdant trees in the deep blue shadows. Fareeha could see a thread of water snaking through the middle, glinting silver in the pre-dawn light. She raised her head when the light touching the slopes began to turn pink, reflecting the glow in the eastern sky. To the west, the light turned lavender, then blue, then blue-grey.

The Witch sat down on the stone, eyes turned out over the valley. She only stirred when Fareeha sat down beside her to watch the sun rise.

It started as a pale crescent of yellow, gentle beams streaming through the clouds on the horizon. Then, the sky began to light up, painting the hills and trees golden-orange. It glowed on the brim of the Witch’s hat, throwing gentle purple shadows over her face. Still, the light caught and glowed in her eyes, and along the edges of her hair.

Those eyes turned, and suddenly Fareeha realized that she had been staring. She looked away hastily. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice a little bit rougher than she would like. 

“Mm.” The Witch hummed in agreement.

Fareeha leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, cupping her face in her hands as she watched the sun rise. “What is this place?”

The Witch shrugged. “A ridge,” she replied softly. “And a valley.” Then, even quieter, “There used to be people here. Some villages along the river. A small fortress to guard the mouth. But there was a plague, and then a series of fires immediately after. The survivors left, and never came back. They said the valley was cursed.”

“Well, is it?”

The Witch cocked her head. “What?”

“Cursed.” Fareeha looked out over the land again. It seemed so peaceful.

The Witch’s smile was small. Brief. “No. But it is quiet. The people have forgotten about it now.”

“I see.” Fareeha risked another glance. The Witch had sounded almost sad. She’d lowered her head, the shadows once again thick over her face. Fareeha idly ran her thumb over her knuckles. “How old are you?”

The Witch turned with a start, then a laugh, her teeth glinting in the dawn. “What a strange question.”

“The way you say things makes it sound like you were there.”

“Hmm… take a guess then, if you’d like.”

Fareeha hesitated. Now she would just sound rude. “How old is… They call you the Witch of the Wilds…”

The Witch took a moment to understand what she meant, but then she chuckled. “Oh no, not nearly so old. These woods have been here for far longer than I have.”

Fareeha inclined her head. Again, there was a long quiet between them. The sun was almost completely above the horizon now, bringing warmth into the air with it. Both of them were content enough to just enjoy it.

Fareeha shifted. “That reminds me,” she said. “I never actually thanked you.”

“Hm?”

“For the bear. And the curse.” Fareeha finally looked at her again. “That was the deal, wasn’t it?”

The Witch studied her, looking into her eyes. “You are genuinely grateful.” She was the first to look away. “That is enough.”

“Still.” Fareeha reached into the inside of her coat. “I didn’t really know what you might like, but…” She withdrew her hand, the Witch watching curiously. Something glimmered in her hand. “I remembered silver and gold.”

The Witch opened her hand. Fareeha passed her the gift, her fingers brushing over her palm. The Witch pulled it to her chest and looked down at it, eyes widening in surprise. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Ah, I made a good choice then?” Fareeha laughed, a little bit nervous. “Azalea,” she added. “For gratitude. I think. It’s been a long time since I studied flower symbolism.”

The Witch gave Fareeha a curious look. “You studied flower symbolism?”

Fareeha’s face warmed, and not just because of the sun. “I got bored.”

“Well, it’s a lovely gift.” The Witch fiddled with the clasp, then swept the thin, silver chain around her neck. “You’re sweet; do you know that?”

“It’s only polite,” Fareeha mumbled.

“If only the world were more polite, then.” The Witch stretched out, and sighed. “How curious,” she murmured.

Fareeha turned her head, raising an eyebrow. The Witch continued. “What a curious person you are. You make me wonder…” She shook her head. “How have you been? How are you finding the Wilds?”

Fareeha pondered the questions thoughtfully. “I’ve been alright, more or less. It’s almost a relief to verify that this is what I really want to do, and that I’m capable of doing it. As for the Wilds…” She looked around, taking in the sweeping vista before her. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “What to say? It’s hard, dangerous, and unforgiving. But so beautiful when I least expect it. There’s something to fear, and something to admire around every corner. Sometimes it is the same thing.”

The Witch nodded. “A good answer.” She looked out over the valley. “You continually surprise me.”

“Do I really?”

“Most fighters are… ah, to put it delicately, self-absorbed,” the Witch said.

“You have to trust the people that you work with, and love what you protect,” Fareeha replied quietly.

“What a chivalrous guard you are.”

“Well, I was never actually…” Fareeha frowned. “My mother never would have let me join.”

“Ah.” 

“I guess she and I both thought I’d end up being an engineer.”

“An engineer?”

Fareeha nodded. “It’s certainly helped out here. Problem-solving, you know?” She smiled wryly. “If I can’t find one, I can make one to pass the time.”

“_Making _ problems?” The Witch laughed. “How very heroic.”

Fareeha blushed. “Not like that! More like… puzzles.”

“Puzzles.”

“Like a puzzle box.” Fareeha shrugged. “I have a knife, I can make one myself.”

“But if you designed it, solving it wouldn’t be difficult, would it?”

“That’s fine; the more difficult challenge is designing it anyways.” Fareeha laughed to herself. “In theory, anyways. I’m not good enough yet to even think about trying.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure about that.” The Witch’s fingers brushed against her arm. Fareeha tensed up, but in the breath the touch was gone. “You have time enough.”

Fareeha didn’t reply, but she did give the Witch a small nod of acknowledgement.

It was the Witch that broke the silence this time. “Where is your horse?”

“That’s sudden.”

“If you must ask about my companions, I must ask about yours.”

“I feel like yours isn’t really comparable to mine, but…” Fareeha shook her head. “I sold him.”

“Not to buy a necklace for a witch, I hope.”

“I would have been too far off the road. That I can buy a nicer gift, is a bonus. Besides, if I really wanted money…” Fareeha tilted her head, and touched a finger to the metal glinting in her hair. “I would have sold these.”

The Witch followed her hand. “They are beautiful,” she acknowledged. “And where are you going, so far away from civilization?”

Fareeha shrugged, noncommittal. “I don’t know yet.” Then, she flashed a cheeky grin. “Where are you going?”

The Witch snorted, but she didn’t try very hard to hide the smile on her face. “Oh? What are you planning, hm?”

“Nothing.” Fareeha put on her best innocent face. “But you are… I mean, it seems like interesting things happen around you.”

The Witch tilted her head back and laughed, the sun touching the pale skin of her throat. “If you must know, I intend to go north. Not too far, mind you.” She pointed. Fareeha’s eyes followed her finger to the tall, dark mountains in the distance, jutting jagged into the sky like so many teeth. “But,” she continued, “I am the Witch of the Wilds. If you need me…” Her hand curled, pulling back to brush an errant strand of hair away from Fareeha’s face. “I will come.”


	6. VI.

Fareeha peered up through the branches, her breath pluming in front of her face. The sky was a wash of purple, the sun dipped just below the horizon. The trees were edged with white frost. Soon the nights would be too cold to travel in, even with the coat that she’d been made. She would have to slow down, and be careful to not let the winter catch her when she was unprepared for it.

The peak rose before her, blotting out the sky. Fareeha had been wandering through the mountains for over a week, searching for… Fareeha frowned. Searching for something. Perhaps it was foolish to climb a mountain on a gut feeling and a wish, with winter coming on.

_ Or, perhaps not, _ Fareeha thought, eyeing the faint orange glow halfway up the slopes. Firelight. That was no wild animal. She set her shoulders, and began to chart her path up the mountain. She had best be careful.

***

Fareeha put her back to a tree and took a deep breath. The sky was deep blue-black and lit with orange. The light emanated from a cave in the mountainside, and while Fareeha had seen nothing on her approach, she didn’t want to take any chances. The light was bright, too bright to be a mere campfire. She had the creeping feeling that its source was not friendly.

Fareeha drew her sword, took another deep breath, and peered around the tree trunk. The mouth of the cave was still clear. Fareeha cocked her head, listening. All was quiet. She took one step, then another. The cave radiated warmth. The frost that would have crunched under her feet had melted.

The cave slanted down. Fareeha stood at the mouth, looking into it. The glow reflected on craggy, rough stone, highlighting piles of pebbles and crumbled rock. Climbing down would be treacherous, and loud. She grimaced, considering her choices.

“Behind you.” Fareeha jerked around, just barely catching a glimpse of curving claws and red flame before she ducked out of the way, rolling back into the leaves. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering, eyes wild.

The figure was backlit by the light pouring from the cave. Fareeha could make out a glimpse of scales, glowing eyes, and an imperious sneer, the curl of a lip and the glint of a fang. Fareeha lifted her sword, the metal shining like a ribbon in the dark. “Sorry,” she said, “Is this place yours?”

The sneer turned into a snarl, and the ground around the figure’s feet burst into flame. The fire coiled, snaked through the leaves, and then then darted for Fareeha. She had an idle thought before she leaped out of the way. _ Dragon. _

“Pardon the question,” she said, backing away to where the damp of the night frost would grant some protection, “But what are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” The fire followed her, the leaves curling and blackening in its wake. 

“Fair enough.” Fareeha dodged out of the way again, eyes searching. The figure had not moved. She would need to either close distance, or get her opponent to come closer. Fareeha looked around, and quickly came to a decision.

The moisture from the frost and the vegetation had not provided as as much protection as she had hoped. She supposed it had been wishful thinking, anyways, when she was up against a spell-fueled flame.

What she was about to do, however, was about as risky as trying to ambush a bear armed with nothing but a sword. It worked last time, Fareeha mused. It might work again.

She picked her course between the trees, darting from shelter to shelter. The trunks didn’t burn so easily as the twigs and fronds of the undergrowth, and they did a fine enough job of blocking vision.

When Fareeha got as close as she could, she only paused to catch her breath, look around, and get her bearings. She put her shoulder down, grit her teeth against the fire and the smoke, and charged. Fareeha hit hard, colliding with hard scales, just barely stopping before she herself went tumbling over the edge.

Fareeha cursed, patting the cinders out of her clothes. The dragon summoner, however, was sent tumbling down the incline, claws and feet scrabbling for purchase among the loose rocks. She hit the bottom with a heavy thump, hissing and swearing all the while.

Fareeha took the opportunity to gather her composure. The slope wasn’t particularly steep; it would be more of an inconvenience than anything. She would apologize, but she thought that might just make her angrier.

“This damned hole!” Fareeha could hear something scraping against stone. She looked down, and raised her sword, just in time to parry a set of claws aiming for her face. She grit her teeth and pushed, breaking the grip and sending the other woman skidding back to the bottom of the incline. Fareeha shook her hand, grimacing at the aftershocks. Her little scrap of extra confidence evaporated. Then, her eyes widened, and she took several steps back.

The cave erupted in flame, sending a searing pillar of light into the sky. Fareeha ducked, flattening herself to the floor as the fire spread, arcing through the air where her head had been just moments before. She could smell sulfur and burning hair.

The line of fire spread into a sheet of it. Fareeha backed off, her breath short. She was thankful, at least, that it was mostly smokeless. She was, however, so preoccupied with dodging the flames that she didn’t notice her actual enemy climbing out of the cave. The fire grew white-hot around her body, sparks whipping into a swirling frenzy. She looked around, and her eyes found Fareeha.

Fareeha backtracked again. She remembered crossing a creek approaching this place. It wasn’t much, but it was cold water. As long as she didn’t break or burn anything trying to find it again, she could gain a little bit of safety. Easier said than done, going backwards, downhill, through a forest. She couldn’t even listen for the running water, with the roaring of the flames in her ears.

Fareeha gasped in relief when she felt the water on her foot. She took several more steps back, until the water reached halfway up to her knees, before she finally dared to turn around and run, scrambling up onto the opposite bank.

The fire hit the water with a hiss, immediately sending up a wall of steam, clouding the night in pale vapor. Tendrils of it reached across the water. Fareeha stood at the ready, breathing heavily, eyes warily scanning the cloud. She kept her sword raised.

Instead of burning through the water, the dragon summoner chose to simply barrel through the mist, claws arcing through the air as she leaped across the water. Fareeha caught her mid-bound, twisting her shoulders to throw her back into the water. The creek boiled and steamed where the scales touched it.

Again, the figure rushed dark and coiled with anger out of the mist. Fareeha stumbled back, unbalanced, her heel catching on some errant root, her back hitting a tree. She raised her sword, heart beating wildly, desperately trying to protect her face and throat from the next blow.

It never came. Fareeha looked up and around, muscles tense, the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. Her eyes finally settled on the gloved hand wrapped around her opponent’s wrist.

Shadows seeped out of the mist, rising, curling, and coalescing between them. Two glowing eyes glared first at Fareeha, then back towards the water.

The Witch’s voice was soft, muffled by the billowing steam. “Stop.”

“But—”

“No.” The reply was harder this time. Fareeha caught the edge of a growl, a slight tremor of something underneath the offhanded veneer. The voice calmed. “It seems there has been a misunderstanding.”

Fareeha could still see only a glow around the Reaper’s shoulders. She leaned to the side, searching for a glimpse of whatever was happening. The Reaper gave her another hard look, and moved out of the way.

The Witch smiled thinly at her. “Hello again.” She was holding the other by the wrist.

“You can’t be serious.” The woman tugged, only halfheartedly trying to break the Witch’s grip. “She’s—”

Fareeha echoed the sentiment, her eyes wide and accusing. “She’s a summoner. A dragon—”

“The Summoner, in fact,” the Witch replied.

“But dragons—”

“You can’t possibly intend to—”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do,” the Witch said, mildly. Then, she turned to Fareeha. “I understand that this may be a shock. Please, put the sword away, and we can talk.”

Fareeha eyed the Summoner warily. She returned the look. Fareeha’s eyes darted to the Witch, and slowly, reluctantly, she sheathed her sword. “I’ll trust you,” she murmured. Then, she turned a look to the others. Her lips drew together, but she didn’t comment.

“Thank you.” The Witch let go of the Summoner’s wrist. She, too, was reluctant, but lowered her hands. Across the bank, the roar of the fire faded away.

“How…” Fareeha reconsidered her words. “Why are you here?”

“Me?” The Witch raised her eyebrows. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Fareeha opened her mouth, and closed it again. The memory of that conversation, those words tingled in the back of her mind. “Oh,” was all she could manage. The Summoner and the Reaper exchanged a look.

“In any case, I am sorry you two had to meet in such a poor manner.” The Witch pushed the brim of her hat up with the tip of her broom and glanced over her shoulder at the mist. It was dissipating already in the cool night air.

“Forgive me,” the Summoner said, in a not-at-all apologetic tone, “but I fail to understand why you’ve chosen to make a pact with—”

“Oh,” the Witch said, eyes twinkling, “I haven’t made any deals with her.”

The Summoner’s eyes widened. Then, she grit her teeth. “_Allied _ yourself with her. This is strange, even for you.”

“And how do you mean by that?”

“She is the kind of person that will always stand in opposition to those like us,” she replied, giving Fareeha another dirty look. “Her mother, and her mother’s friends…” She curled her lip.

Fareeha’s eyes were cold. “You,” she said, “are dangerous. Dragons are greedy, cunning, and destructive by nature, and those that would summon them are power-hungry—”

“Enough,” the Witch interrupted. “I will not have fighting between my friends. Is that clear?”

Both Fareeha and the Summoner looked skeptical, but decided not to argue. “I still question this,” Fareeha muttered.

“And I will answer.” The Witch looked up, checking the sky. “Later.” She gave Fareeha a close look, holding up a hand at her protests. “You seem tired, and the night is cold. Don’t you think it would be better to find a more appropriate place to speak?”

“I…” Fareeha relented. “Alright.”

The Witch brightened. “Good!” She turned to the Summoner. “You wouldn’t mind if we..?”

The Summoner snorted, then unfolded one arm, pointing back up the slope. “If you so wish,” she said, wearily.

***

The inside of the cave was slightly cramped, with four people inside, and furnished only with a low table and a chest. Fareeha sat down, wincing at the cramps already setting into her muscles. The warmth, at least, was soothing.

The Witch leaned her staff against the wall, and hung her hat upon it. “Now then,” she said. “First, a more specific reason for being here.” She gestured outside. “I saw the fire. I came to investigate.”

“You said you were heading here before,” Fareeha said.

“Mm, yes. That would be to come help this one out.” She cocked her head in the Summoner’s direction.

Under the Witch’s prodding gaze, the Summoner slowly clarified. “I typically live in the north,” she said. “Where it’s quieter, and I am closer to my source of power.” Her eyes locked with Fareeha’s as she said this. Fareeha held her gaze steady. “As it were,” she continued, “I have been forced to relocate.”

Fareeha looked away. “Trouble in the north,” she murmured.

The Summoner nodded. “As you can see,” she said, voice thick with disdain, “I have yet to find a suitable place to settle in the interim. These mountains seem promising, at the very least.” She, too, looked away, turning her eyes to the Witch. “I grow anxious. You know that winter will not stop them.”

“I know,” the Witch responded. “But don’t be so pessimistic.”

“Easy for you to say,” the Summoner muttered under her breath. She raised her chin. “I seek somewhere to shelter until it is safe to return to my home. At this rate, I would settle for a middling cavern, or even a reasonably intact ruin.”

“And I,” the Witch said, “am here to lend my assistance.” She gave Fareeha a curious look.

Fareeha looked askance. “I have simply been wandering,” she said.

The Summoner snorted. “You—”

The Witch cut her off. “In that case,” she said, “perhaps you would be willing to help us?”

Fareeha hesitated. “That’s…” she glanced at the Summoner again.

The Witch cocked her head. She stood abruptly. “Excuse us,” she said, then, addressing Fareeha, “would you step outside with me?”

Fareeha frowned, and looked around. The Summoner inclined her head and looked away, her expression a mask of disinterest. She stood, warily, and followed the Witch back into the night.

“I’m sorry to be so sudden,” the Witch said quietly. “I simply felt like it would be better to speak more privately.”

“I see.”

“Forgive the Summoner for her wariness,” the Witch said, her voice still low. “Life is not easy for her, and others have rarely been kind. But please, think about it. It gets lonely out here, and the winter will be cold. We can at least offer you shelter and a little bit of company. Otherwise, you will have to return to the nearest town soon.”

Fareeha’s eyes darted from the Witch, then over her shoulder. She shook her head, uncertainly. “I don’t know.”

The Witch eyed her. Once again, she had a faint air of disappointment about her. “Of course. But please consider it.”

Fareeha nodded. She took a tense moment to think her words over. “I only worry,” she said slowly, “that we will get along… poorly. That would be dangerous for all of us.”

“I understand. Will you accept this, then? I promise,” the Witch said, “that, in both body and mind, I will keep you safe.”

“That’s my line,” Fareeha muttered under her breath. Still, her shoulders relaxed, lowering, and her eyes turned thoughtful.

“I know we don’t seem to be a very… reputable bunch. You are right in some ways, but please, believe me when I tell you that we are not here to cause harm. She is only trying to find a place to be safe, and lay low for a while.” The Witch caught Fareeha’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Fareeha let out a small breath. “Haven’t I told you already?” She whispered. “Yes.”

The Witch’s eyes softened. “I’m glad,” she murmured. “Thank you.” Then, she caught Fareeha’s hand, leaned forward, and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

Fareeha stiffened, eyes widening. She made a small noise in the back of her throat as she struggled to regain her composure. The Witch drew back, just enough to look her in the eye, and laughed, lightly. She reached up with one gloved hand to cup her cheek. “You look tired,” she said. “The cave is small, and the others are in a bad mood, but it’s warm, and safe. Will you tolerate them for me? And try to get along, if you can?”

Fareeha could only nod. 

The Witch’s expression melted into a grateful smile. Her hand slipped down to find Fareeha’s, their fingers lacing together. She squeezed. “Thank you,” she whispered again.

Again, Fareeha could only nod.


	7. VII.

The last piece of wood split with a satisfying thunk. Fareeha added it to the stack, and counted. Satisfied, she gathered the lot of it up in her arms, and turned, picking her way back through the trees.

She felt judgemental eyes on her the moment she entered the clearing. “You realize,” the Summoner said, slowly, “that I can make fire whenever I want.”

“Sure,” Fareeha replied.

The Summoner waited. Fareeha could practically feel her fuming. She didn’t reply. “Then why,” she snapped, “are you gathering firewood?”

“You can’t be everywhere at once, can you?”

The Reaper, standing under the trees at the edge of the clearing, snorted. The Summoner glared at him. Fareeha ignored them both, and stacked the wood by the cave’s mouth. The sun was up, bright and warm, and despite the company, she was in a good mood.

“Can I ask you something?” She straightened up, dusting off her hands.

“No,” they both replied.

Fareeha continued, ignoring them. “What’s your plan? I thought you were looking for a better…” Her eyes slid over to the cave. “Den.”

“I am.” The Summoner sniffed, and turned her head out to the trees, looking to the rest of the mountain range. “I have been spending my time and energy scouting.” She turned, and gave Fareeha a pointed look. “It would go faster with multiple pairs of eyes looking, of course.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not inclined to just go wandering out there.” Fareeha glanced at the Reaper. “I’m not as fast as some.”

“No.” The Reaper’s voice was flat.

“Why are you here?” Fareeha looked him up and down.. As far as she could tell, his role was to stand around, scowling, scoffing, and looming in the periphery. “I thought you weren’t obligated to stick around.”

“Mind your own business, brat.”

“The retainer never wanders too far away from the master,” the Summoner noted idly. “Not for long.” 

The Reaper glared at her. “Shut your mouth.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” she replied snidely, “did I hit a nerve?”

“You sure run your mouth a lot,” he growled, “for a trained dog. Couldn’t settle for just the one, could you? You just had to come begging for more.”

The air began to warm. “You could not possibly fathom my motivations.” The Summoner took a step towards him, eyes flashing dangerously.

The Reaper sneered. “Oh, I can make a pretty good guess.”

Fareeha eyed the dry grass around the Summoner’s feet. It had begun to smolder. She supposed she should move her firewood—it would be a shame to lose all her work to a little spat. She almost moved, before the air suddenly cooled.

The Witch of the Wilds emerged from the trees, eyes as gentle and carefree as ever. She held a spray of delicate, thin green stems and leaves in one hand. She crossed the clearing to Fareeha. “We’re in luck,” she said, as if oblivious to the tension in the air. “The growth has been good this year.” She raised her other hand, and touched her fingertips to the stems. The tips budded, and blossomed into clusters of small blue flowers. The Witch flicked the stems around, presenting them to Fareeha.

“Oh…” Fareeha accepted them slowly, gathering the stems in her fingers, eyes settling on the petals. “Thank you.”

The Witch clapped her hands together and swiveled on her heel. “That reminds me; you will let me use your cauldron, won’t you?”

The Summoner inclined her head. “The cave is small,” she said, “I’m afraid the ventilation will be poor, but yes, of course.”

“Ah, that brings me to the next course of business. I do believe I’ve found something rather promising.” The Witch gestured into the woods. “The next peak over.”

The Summoner blinked, eyes widening. She hesitated, and dipped her head again. “That is good news,” she murmured.

“I assume you will be wanting to move as soon as possible.”

“Yes; that would involve taking and setting an anchor there. At least one will have to be there in person.” The Summoner turned her head, giving Fareeha a meaningful look.

Fareeha, still holding her handful of flowers, frowned. “I’m not opposed to travel,” she said, “but would it not be faster for one of you to go instead?”

The Summoner shook her head. “No. This is not something which can be transported through magical means. The journey will have to be made on foot.”

“It’s not far,” the Witch added. “I can show you the way.”

Fareeha’s eyes shifted to her. “The next peak over, you said?” The Witch nodded, and Fareeha relented. “What do you need me to do?”

***

The anchor, as the Summoner had called it, turned out to be a flat, dark disc, warm to the touch and thrumming quietly with power. The instructions were simple. Locate the cave and place the anchor within. And do so quickly. Perhaps Fareeha was imagining it, but when the Summoner said that, she looked almost… nervous.

The Witch had given her directions. Fareeha should go down the south-eastern slope until she reached a river. She should then cross to the other side, and follow it through the mountains until the water began to climb to its source. Halfway up the slope, the river was split by a small, triangular island of stone. Here, she should take the western path, following that river until it became a stream, all the way up to its source. Directly up the slope from the spring, according to the Witch, Fareeha would find the cave that she was looking for.

All things considered, Fareeha thought it would take only a few weeks at most, if she really took her time. Crossing the river would be the hardest part. The water would be cold, and any ice that had formed would be too thin to travel across. She had jokingly asked if the anchor could be used as a heat pack, but the Summoner had been thoroughly unamused.

Fareeha found the river by the end of the first day, cold and silvery with silt. She walked upstream through the evening, stopping only when she found a wider, straighter stretch of water, and making camp just up the bank.

In the morning, the current was slower, though the water and air were no less cold. Fareeha crossed carefully, eyes sharp and steps slow, a length of rope keeping her connected to the shore. She stopped until noon on the opposite bank, drying herself and her clothes by a fire. That firewood had come in handy after all.

Fareeha built another fire when night fell. She was sitting next to it, quietly shaving thin curls of wood from a block in her hand, when she heard the rustle of cloth.

The Witch sat down on the opposite side of the fire. She nodded at Fareeha. “You’re faster than one might think, from the way you talk about yourself.”

Fareeha shrugged, and turned her attention back to the wood. “You seem to be able to go wherever you want, whenever you want. I can’t really compare with that, can I?”

The Witch tilted her head. “I suppose not.”

Fareeha nodded, and was quiet. A few minutes passed before she spoke again. “I used to play, you know.”

“Hm?”

“Guitar.” Fareeha brushed her thumb over the wood, feeling the smooth grain. She sighed. “It feels like this would have been a good night for it.”

“Ah.”

“Those things are too big to carry around.” Fareeha shook her head. She flicked her wrist, and brushed the scrap of wood off. She held up the carving.

The Witch peered at it through the flickering flames. “An owl?”

Fareeha nodded, her face breaking into a warm smile. “I’m glad it looks like one.” She laughed. “I’ve never actually tried one before.”

“It’s lovely so far,” the Witch said. 

“Thanks.” Fareeha looked around. “No Reaper tonight?”

“No.”

“I’m told he’s always around when you are.”

“Not always. But often,” the Witch conceded. “It is the nature of our deal.”

Fareeha thought about that. “I probably shouldn’t ask.”

“What do you think I’ve done to him?” The Witch leaned closer to the fire.

“Stolen his soul, if the townspeople are to be believed. His and everyone else’s.”

A flicker of a smile played across the Witch’s lips. Fareeha could see the flash of her teeth. “And do you believe them?”

Fareeha shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, quietly.

“I rarely consider myself so extreme,” the Witch said. “But it does make for a good tale.”

Fareeha nodded. “How urgent is this, really?” She asked, quietly.

The Witch frowned. “Do not strain yourself for our sake.”

“That’s not an answer.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, the Witch sighed. “Very.” Her voice was low. “I was not the only one who noticed that fight.”

Fareeha raised her eyebrows. “And that’s enough to worry her?” She frowned. “What are you not telling me? And why?”

The Witch shook her head. “Later. I promise. But know that time is of the essence. You have about a week, by my estimate.”

Fareeha’s frown lingered, but she let the subject drop. “I guess I should get some sleep.”

***

“‘Don’t strain yourself’,” Fareeha muttered under her breath. “As if I would have a choice.” One week to get to and climb a mountain. One week to make a trip that would have normally taken twice that time. There was a dull pain in her head; she had elected to sleep less in return for extra travel time.

She could always slow down. The burning in her eyes certainly made her want to. Fareeha neither liked nor trusted the Summoner, and despite what she had said before, only half-trusted the Witch. But she did like her, despite it all. Fareeha grumbled again. There was still a long way to go.

The sun was piercing to her eyes by the time she reached the stone island. Fareeha squinted at it across the water, and was almost loathe to leave it behind. The rock was dark, and looked warm in the afternoon light. The water between it and the shore, however, was disappointingly swift. Fareeha shook her head. She needed to keep moving. It was too late to give up now.

The sun was setting by the time Fareeha reached the spring. She had barely slept since she had reached the fork in the river. By her count, seven days had passed since she had started her journey. “_It’s not far from the spring,” _ the Witch’s voice seemed to whisper through her memories. “_Just a short distance up the slope…” _

Suddenly it was there. Just beyond the trees. A gash of blacker-than-night, torn out of the mountainside. Fareeha just stood there and looked at it for a while, swaying slightly on her feet. Her eyes strained in the darkness. She was pretty sure she was seeing double. Then, she remembered the disc.

The cave began as a tunnel, digging into the mountain for a short distance before turning sharply left. From there, the passage opened into a large cavern. Fareeha pulled at whatever strength she had left, dragging herself to roughly where she thought the center of the cavern was. She pulled the anchor out of her pack, and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor, too tired to put it down carefully.

The disc clicked with a note of finality when it hit the ground. It began to glow dully, the humming growing louder and louder. Fareeha backed away warily. The air grew warm, and then uncomfortably hot, and suddenly a slash of fire opened in the darkness, throwing stark shadows over the walls and blasting a ripple of dry heat through the air. Fareeha raised an arm, squinting. She saw a figure emerge, but she had very little energy left.

“Here.” The voice in her ear was soft. Fareeha felt smooth, cool gloves on her arms. “Shh… come here.” The Witch pulled her close, and Fareeha let her. She was soft. One arm wrapped comfortingly around her waist, the other reaching up to run fingers through Fareeha’s hair. “Look at you,” she said softly. “Honestly…” She sighed. “Your task is done. Thank you.” Fareeha vaguely thought she felt lips brush against her forehead before her vision grew dark. “Now rest.”

***

Fareeha woke in a dark room. She looked around, heart beating in her ears, fingers scrambling for something, reaching instinctively for the place where her sword would be. She sat up, backing up until her back hit a wall.

She noticed two things when she collected herself and calmed down. First, she was in a bed, a luxury that she hadn’t had in a long time. It was a nice bed too, the pillows soft, the blankets warm. Second, there was a little bit of light coming in from two sources. One, under the door, and two, a covered lantern on a shelf by her bed.

Fareeha reached over, uncovering the lantern, filling the room with golden-orange light. She looked around. The room was small, but not cramped. It was sparsely furnished—just the bed, the shelf, and the singular door. Her things were placed by the shelf, her coat neatly folded and stacked next to her boots. Fareeha swung her legs over the side of the bed, touching her feet to the floor.

Fareeha stood, crossed to her pack, and dug out a lighter coat, a comb, and a clean, but creased set of clothes. She changed quickly, pulled the comb through her hair until the worst of the tangles were gone, and rebraided her hair, threading it through with copper and gold. She pulled her boots on, laced them up, buckled her sword to her belt, and walked over to the door.

The cavern was transformed. Glowing, crystalline structures filled it with light. Offshooting rooms and passages had been blocked off with doors, with stairs leading down to the cavern floor if necessary. Shelves ran along the wall. One corner was filled with books. A cauldron bubbled over an open fire in another, components danging from the ceiling or scattered over the shelves. In yet another nook, the floor was covered in symbols, circles and triangles, tiny, precise writing following each line. It was here that the Summoner stood, looking down at some flat, smooth, glowing thing set into a small pedestal. She turned when Fareeha stepped into the room.

“You’re awake.” For once, she did not seem unhappy to see her.

“I am.” Fareeha looked around. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Only a night and half a day,” the Summoner answered. “I work fast, when I am able.” A small, proud smile touched her lips.

“So I see.”

The smile faded. “You did not need to do that,” she said, quietly. “To push yourself so hard.”

Fareeha bit back the wry comments that immediately sprung to mind. “Consider it my apology,” she said instead. “For our bad meeting.”

The Summoner raised an eyebrow, but seemed to accept it. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was quiet.

“Why were you in such a hurry in the first place?”

The Summoner frowned. Her eyes flicked to the entrance of the cave. Fareeha noticed white daylight spilling through. “I suppose you deserve to know,” she said, her voice hushed. Fareeha had to come closer to hear. “I was… hunted in the north. My home was discovered, and I was forced to flee. They have been closing their lead on me for some time now, but this…” She gestured around. “Is defensible. As I said, I owe you a great deal.”

Fareeha pondered that. She shook her head, and looked around. “Where are..?”

“The others?” The Summoner’s voice returned to normal volume. “Out. They will be back.” She pointed to the cauldron, and the small, round table beside it. “In the meantime, it seems she’s left you a pot of tea. I have been trying to keep it hot.”

“It’s not over-steeped?” Fareeha wandered over, looking curiously at the tea set on the table.

The Summoner snorted. “I removed the leaves before they got bitter. What sort of barbarian do you think I am?”

“Glad to hear it.” Fareeha poured herself a cup. She lifted it to her lips, took a sip, and sighed. “Thanks.”

Satya simply nodded, and returned to whatever she had been doing before. The cavern settled into a comfortable quiet. Fareeha merely enjoyed the tea, and listened to the pot bubble over the crackling fire. It was a familiar sound. She closed her eyes.

“Well!” Fareeha cracked open an eye as the Witch swept into the room. “Everyone’s up, I see.” She turned to Fareeha. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright.”

“Good. You had us worried.” The Witch walked over, dropping a handful of translucent purple stones on the table. She looked over her shoulder, and beckoned to the shadows. “Come then, I think we’re well overdue for a proper introduction.”

“Are we?” Fareeha tilted her head. “I thought we were well past that.”

“As did I.” Still, the Summoner left her work, and walked over.

“I said a _ proper _introduction,” the Witch said. She glanced at Fareeha. “I did promise a more thorough explanation.”

“But—”

The Witch frowned, and looked over her shoulder again. “Satya. Come now, don’t be obstinate.”

The Summoner froze, her eyes widening. Her fingers flexed, and fists clenched. Behind her, the Reaper chuckled. “So that’s how it is.”

The Summoner—_Satya_, Fareeha assumed, was shaking. Smoke curled from the corners of her lips. Her eyes swiveled to fix on Fareeha. “You…”

“As I said,” the Witch said, “she’s a friend.” She sat down, and addressed Fareeha. “I suppose you’ve gathered by now that we’re out here to help Satya find a safe home?”

Fareeha nodded. “And you’re moving again once everything’s settled?”

“Not necessarily. There are other matters that I must tend to in the area. Things to keep an eye on.”

The Reaper shifted. “You can’t seriously be looking for an opportunity to help him? He’s caused enough trouble already.”

“And he still owes me.” The Witch reached out, pulling a cup to her side of the table. She filled it from the pot.

“He hasn’t so much as earned himself a name.”

“I will always hold others to their promises.” There was a dangerous light in the Witch’s eyes. “You should know that.”

The Reaper shut up.

“Anyways.” The Witch took a sip of tea. She gestured with her cup to the Reaper. “The wraith—The Reaper—is the extra firepower.”

“As per usual,” the Reaper grumbled.

The Witch ignored him. “He’ll be keeping an eye on things while my attention is elsewhere.” She gestured then to Satya. “And Satya here…”

“I can introduce myself,” she interrupted. She turned the full force of her gaze onto Fareeha. “I am a dragon summoner, and artist and scholar of the arcane.”

“As she says.” The Witch inclined her head. She turned her eyes to Fareeha. “And you…”

Fareeha looked around. “Fareeha Amari. A simple adventurer.”

The Witch smiled. “Not so simple at all,” she said, softly. “We’re glad to have you here.”


	8. VIII.

Ana sat down by the fire, and waited. The rain dripped off of the boughs overhead, and sizzled on the surface of the river. Ana pulled up her hood, patiently watching the water.

Blue light flashed in the corner of her vision. “You!” The voice shivered, and solidified.

Ana looked over. “Hello again.”

“But you… You were…” The will-o’-the-wisp’s eyes were wide. “I thought you were never coming back!”

“I get that a lot these days,” Ana replied. “You haven’t exactly been staying where you’re supposed to, from what I gather.”

“Well it’s raining, isn’t it?”

Ana shrugged. “I suppose it is.” She patted the ground. “Come, sit. I suspect we have some things to talk about.”

“Well… sure.” The will-o’-the-wisp swayed on her feet uncertainly. She sat down, crossing her legs. “A lot’s happened—”

“I know.” Ana nodded, and sighed. “It’s good to see you again, Lena.”

“Y-yeah. You too.” Lena coughed. “But first—”

“Lena. Focus.” Ana took a breath. “I seek my daughter. What have you seen or heard?”

“Your daughter..?” Lena cocked her head, scratching her chin. “Nothing about her, I’m afraid. Been wandering through the wetlands for a while now.”

Ana’s shoulders slumped. “I see.”

“Oh, but I have heard something interesting. Torbjörn and Brigitte are back in town. Came down from the north on the tail of some dragon or other.”

“A dragon?” Ana’s eyebrows shot up. “This far south?”

Lena nodded. “Strange times. There’ve been vampire sightings all over the place too, though I figure those are just people getting nervous.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. Only vampire I know is that countess.” Lena wrinkled her nose. “And she’s not the careless type.”

“Hmm…” Ana’s gaze dipped, thoughtful. “Torbjörn is in the area, you say? Where, exactly?”

Lena pointed to the road. “Just follow the road north. They’re the only other ones around; it’s safe to travel.”

“Ah. Thank you.” Ana followed her finger, then turned her eye to the flames, already lost in thought as she began to plan.

“Oh and Ana?”

“Hm?”

“Good luck. I’m sorry to hear that this is what’s brought you back.”

Ana looked up, and mustered a smile. “Thank you.”

***

It was snowing when she came upon them, sitting under a lean-to by a blazing campfire at the side of the road. One looked up at the sound of hooves, pulling a branch from the flames and holding it aloft. Ana couldn’t see her face, but she could hear the joy in her voice. “It’s about time!”

Ana didn’t reply until she was close enough to feel the warmth of the fire. “You’ve been waiting for me, have you?” She said as she dismounted.

“Zippy little will-o’-the-wisp came by and told us.” Torbjörn gestured to the fireside. “Come on. Cold isn’t kind on old bones.”

“Ha.” Ana mouthed her thanks as Brigitte took her horse. She lowered herself stiffly to the ground. “Worry about yourself, old man.”

“Younger than you,” Torbjörn growled through his bristly beard. He shook his head. “Look at us, the cyclopses are back together.”

“Have something to eat! You look like you’ve had a long journey.” Brigitte nodded at a pot of soup and the heel of bread laid out next to it. She reached up to pat the horse on its neck. “Both of you.”

“Thank you.” Ana reached out, pulling a bowl to her. “Now then, what have you been up to these past few years?”

“More than a few years,” Torbjörn said. He scratched his beard. “Travelling. Fighting. You know there’s always more work to do. And you…”

“Trying to carve out a quiet life, of course.” Ana tore the lump of bread in half. “Tending a garden, watching over the people. Living.”

“Hmmm…” Torbjörn grumbled. “It sounds nice.”

“It was.” Ana sniffed the soup, and dipped her bread into it. “But as you say. There’s always something to do.”

“Unfortunately.”

Ana shook her head. “And how is your family?”

A warm glow appeared in Tobjörn’s eye. “Good!” He laughed. “The past holidays have been lively, at least.”

Ana returned the smile. “May your home be ever happy, warm, and full, Torbjörn.”

Torbjörn pushed a mug of ale to Ana’s side. “Thank you. Your garden—how is it coming along?”

“Excellently.” Ana beamed. “It was particularly vibrant this spring. Full of flowers. Retirement isn’t so bad you know, with those around to the brighten up the day.” She accepted the ale graciously. “I’ve been thinking of visiting the beach. Taking a vacation.”

“The sun’s nice,” Torbjörn agreed.

“Yes. And far away from all this.” Ana’s smile turned sad. She quickly shook it off. “I should tell you; I ran across Jack recently.”

Torbjörn raised one bushy eyebrow. “Did you? How was he?”

“Grumpy. Impulsive. Ran around scowling and brandishing a large gun.” Ana shrugged, and took a quick drink. “The usual.”

“Hurmph.” Torbjörn grunted and picked up his own mug. “Still faster than any man his age should be?”

Ana grinned. “Of course.”

“Where’d you meet him?”

“Adlersbrunn.”

“Aldersbrunn?” Brigitte, returning to the fire, shook the snow out of her hair and sat down. “I heard about that! Some monster being raised there, or something.”

“More or less.”

“There was a pretty big reward involved, right?” Brigitte leaned forward, eyes shining. “It must have been a big fight! What was it like?”

“Stretches of blood, grease, fire, and chaos interspersed with just enough quiet for us to catch our breaths and gossip.” Ana chuckled dryly. “Let’s say some familiar faces turned up, and I’ve got another tally next to my name.”

Brigitte’s brow furrowed. Her father snorted. “Some things never change.”

“Next to Jack’s too. He’s probably even more worked up now.” Ana sighed a long-suffering sigh. “If I had the time, I’d go keep an eye on him, but…”

“Ah, he’s made his choices.” Torbjörn picked up a stick and poked the flames, voice lowering when he saw that Ana had finished eating. “I hear you’ve lost your daughter.”

Ana looked into the swirling snow. “Yes,” she said. For a moment, her voice trembled, but then it was gone. “She’s out there, somewhere.”

“You just don’t know where.”

“I need your help, old friend.”

Torbjörn mulled it over for a minute. “We can try,” he said at last.

Ana dipped her head. She took a deep breath, the scent of wood smoke and snow over her tongue. “I’m told you’re hunting a dragon.”

“Dragon summoner,” Brigitte corrected.

Her father grunted in agreement. “The beasts never come out this far. This is a summoner. _The_ Summoner, in fact.”

“You’ve been after her for some time, if I remember correctly.” Ana waited for the nods of affirmation. “What changed?”

“What changed?” Torbjörn snorted. “We found her.”

“You seem remarkably confident.”

Torbjörn waved a hand. “Ah, we’re stronger than that thing’s flames. If we can trap her, it’s over. And good riddance. One less of those scaly bastards running around.”

Ana frowned. “You are underestimating her.”

“We’ve got good odds, especially if you’re willing to lend a hand,” Brigitte said cheerfully.

Ana’s eye flicked to her. She frowned. “Me?”

“Aye. She channels both dragon and Witch magic, and weaves the lot of it into things of her own design.” Torbjörn sounded almost begrudgingly admiring. “Does a lot more than just lighting things on fire.”

“Scrying, for example,” Brigitte said. “Plus, she’s just knowledgeable. If she doesn’t know anything, she’ll be able to find out.”

“She would never help us.” Ana’s eye narrowed. “You intend to slay her either way.”

Torbjörn shrugged. “She doesn’t have to know that. Convince her that we’ll spare her if she cooperates.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Bah.” Torbjörn waved a hand. “No worse than some of the things she’s done. Dragons are evil; there’s no if or but about it. Besides, there’s no other way.”

Ana’s eye flicked to Brigitte. Her frown deepened. “Death in return for my daughter. It’s poor thanks.”

“She would not give you the same kindness.” Torbjörn fixed her with a steely gaze. “Remember what being wrong cost you last time.”

Ana’s lips thinned, but she said nothing. Brigitte was the one that filled in the sudden awkward silence. “It’s getting pretty late,” she said. “You should get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“Hm.” Ana nodded, and drew her cloak around her shoulders, pulling it closer against the large, wet flakes of snow. “I think that would be a good idea. Wake me up for the second one.”

Ana stirred when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She looked up, meeting Brigitte’s gentle eyes. “It’s been quiet,” she murmured, looking over her shoulder at the steadily falling snow.

Ana stood, wincing at the ache in her joints. “Good.” She looked to Torbjörn. Soundly asleep. “You’re not entirely happy with this either,” she whispered.

Brigitte hesitated. “I…” She sighed. “No. It feels dishonorable.”

“Dishonorable.” Ana smiled wryly. “You are as I remembered.”

“What do you think about it?”

“I think everyone deserves at least a second chance. And proper thanks for their help, if they should choose to give it.”

“Even under threat?”

“Such a deal is a threat made as a promise, and a promise must be upheld.” Ana looked to Tobjörn again. “He is embittered by a lifetime of fighting. Perhaps I would be the same, if I were wiser.”

“For my money, it’s the other way around.” Brigitte bowed her head. She tilted it at her father. “He does feel bad about it, despite what he says. He just feels like it’s the only thing that he can do.”

“I know.” Ana sighed, her breath a white cloud in front of her face. “In the end, I suppose this will be a bridge we will cross when we come to it.”

Brigitte nodded, shaking the snowflakes dusting her auburn hair. “I’ll try to think of something. Talk it out, maybe.”

Ana snorted. “You and I both know your father is too stubborn for that.”

Brigitte gave her a small, tired smile. “He’s been proven wrong more than once.”

Ana raised her eyebrows and inclined her head. After a minute, she sighed. “You seem to be doing well.”

“Yes.” Brigitte’s smile widened. “I decided that I need to fight to protect what I love, and I’m always happy to fight alongside my friends and family.”

“You don’t worry that they’ll be hurt?”

Brigitte shrugged. “I was afraid of it at first, and I guess I still am, but I learned to take care of them when they were hurt.” Her eyes turned sad. “There might be a battle that one of us never comes back from. And I will have to watch everyone struggle against their scars and the ghosts from their past. I understand that. But in the meantime, fighting for a noble cause with people that I love and trust is a privilege. The least I can do is make sure that no one that I care about has to fight alone.”

“That’s one way to think about it,” Ana said. Her eyes were dim.

“Hey.” Brigitte reached out, touching Ana on the arm. “Pharah’s tough. She’ll be fine.”

Ana smiled faintly at the old nickname. “You’ve both grown up strong.”

“Aw, thanks.” Brigitte laughed quietly. “Maybe I’ll be able to show you sometime soon. Get your thoughts on what I’m doing well, what I could do better at.”

Ana let out a small huff. “Perhaps.” She tilted her head towards the fire. “But never mind. Don’t let this old woman keep you from getting some proper sleep.”

The morning dawned cold and dim, the snow still falling in a light powder. Ana woke early, stoked the fire, and watched the snow blow past.

She heard someone move behind her. “Early frost,” she commented. “It’ll be bad if it gets this cold further south.”

“Ah, it probably won’t.” Torbjörn set something down, metal clanking on metal. He pointed. “Look at the mountains. Still dark.”

Ana followed his finger to the mountains that could just be seen rising over the trees. He was right. There was no snow on those peaks.

“Coincidentally,” he continued, “that’s where we’re going. It’s wild territory. Good place to carve out a lair.”

“And difficult to approach,” Ana commented. “That ground will take a long time to cover.”

“There was fire up there just a few nights ago. A lot of it. Here and gone in a matter of minutes.” Torbjörn waved his hand. “She’s holed up in there, I'm sure of it.”

Ana frowned. “And what could she need so much fire for? Could something else have gotten to her?”

“Not likely. Take it from the wisp—we’re the only people around. Any other creature strong enough to beat the Summoner would get ah, dissuaded by the Witch.”

“The Witch. You did mention that…”

Brigitte piped up. “She’s not just a summoner of dragons. We’re pretty sure she’s a long-time ally of the Witch.”

Ana’s eyebrows raised. “And you were still _ that _ confident? Sometimes I think there’s too much bluster in that head of yours.”

Torbjörn scowled. “I was planning on distracting her; get her preoccupied with a higher priority and take the opportunity to shut out any magic. Now that you’re here…” He shrugged.

“The Witch of the Wilds is not so easily fooled.” Ana shook her head. “You know this. Is Lena still in the area?”

“Who knows? The girl’s flighty as anything.”

Brigitte held out a mug. “Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” Ana took the mug. It was dark, strong, and hot enough to warm her to the core. “And what sort of defenses are we expecting?”

“Fire. A lot of fire.”

Brigitte clarified. “She likes to shape it. It won’t always behave like fire is supposed to. It snakes around, weaves through the air and along the ground, darts from place to place, rises in walls…” She traced lines in the air with one hand as she spoke, the other lifting her own mug to her lips. She took a gulp, and continued. “And she’s also good at wards. Traps. Watch for them.”

“How do you track her?”

“She emits magic. It fades eventually, but we can track the residual traces for a long time.” 

“And the summoning?”

“Don’t worry about that. Summoning’s for making deals. Find a patron, get the power, and do their dirty work in return. Doesn’t come into play in the middle of a battle.” Torbjörn waved off Ana’s concerns. “She can move things around, but not too quickly.”

“But she will know we are coming.”

“Sure, you don’t get that strong by letting people get the drop on you.” Brigitte waved the two back to the fire. “Get some breakfast. We’ve got a long day of journeying ahead of us.”

“She’s running out of places to hide.” Torbjörn reached over to help cook. Brigitte surrendered the food with little argument. “We’re dragon slayers. This is what we live for.”

“If she’s cornered, she’ll fight all the more fiercely.”

“Eat.” Torbjörn pushed a plate towards her. “We can talk about this on the road.”

“You know I worry,” Ana said.

“I know.” Torbjörn handed another plate to Brigitte, before beginning to fill his own. “That’s why I trust that you’ll watch over us.”

Ana shook her head. “I always do,” she murmured. In the back of her mind, she remembered Fareeha, with dirt on her nose and stars in her eyes, telling her that she wanted to be just like her. A guardian. Ana wondered what would have happened if she had taught her daughter more.

They ate, cleaned, and packed up quickly. By midmorning, the fire was a cold slush, the ashes smothered in snow and mud until the last tendrils of smoke were gone.

Ana trained her eye on the mountains as they departed, taking a slow, steady pace into the wilderness. She turned the new information over in her head, puzzling it over as she rode. At last, she was making progress. The next step of her quest was close.

She just had to make sure she didn’t fail.


	9. IX.

Fareeha paused, breathing heavily, to quickly wipe the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She rolled her shoulders, shifted her feet, and raised her sword again, eyes fierce and dark.

The blade whipped through the air in a flurry of diagonal slashes. Fareeha stopped again, taking several steps back to the center of the small clearing. She looked up, and around, studying the position of the sun. Late afternoon. She should be getting back soon. Then she looked over her shoulder, and froze.

The Witch was standing next to her coat, where Fareeha had discarded it hours before. Her eyes were bright with interest. “Good afternoon,” she said.

Fareeha blinked, and tried to calm her breathing. “Good afternoon. How long have you been there?”

The Witch shook her head. “Not long. Did I startle you?”

“I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Ah, my apologies then.” Her eyes dropped to the sword in Fareeha’s hand.

“Can I help you with anything?”

The Witch shrugged. “I’ll admit it; I’m mostly just curious. Like I said, I’ve never studied martial arts.”

“Ah, well.” Fareeha looked away, and lifted her sword again. “I might be going at this for a bit longer. It’s just simple exercises to keep the skills sharp. Nothing too interesting, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine. I’m the one intruding on you, after all.”

“You’re not intruding.” Fareeha turned back to the empty space on the other side of the clearing, and squared her shoulders. “I don’t mind the company.”

“If you’re sure…” The Witch sat down, pulling her knees to her chest. Fareeha caught the gesture out of the corner of her eye, and quickly turned her head. Of all the things that she had expected the Witch of the Wilds to be, cute was not one of them. “May I ask questions?”

“I’ll try my best to answer.”

“Let me know if you ever get fed up with me.” The Witch’s bright laughter filled the air. “Alright then, what are you doing right now?”

“You mean taking a stance?” Fareeha waited just long enough to glimpse a nod before elaborating. “Leading foot forward, legs slightly bent, center of gravity low and on the balls of the feet. It keeps you balanced. A grip on a sword should be relaxed; otherwise it’s difficult to move and you tire out your hand. Keep the weight on your shoulder if possible; those muscles are stronger and don’t tire as easily. Stances are ready positions—easy to move in and out of, for facilitating both quick defense and offense.” Fareeha shifted her sword, lowering it to slant down. “And a fundamental skill is being able to move quickly and fluidly between them.”

“Interesting.”

Fareeha smiled, more to herself than anything. “I’m using a one-handed sword without a shield, which is unideal, but easy to carry. It’s lighter and faster, but lacks the power of a larger weapon. At the very least I have a hand free to grapple, pull a knife,” saying this, her hand drifted down to tap the knife hilt in her belt, “and possibly make rude gestures.”

The Witch laughed again. “My my, and what does that last one accomplish?”

Fareeha threw her a grin. “It gets me yelled at, mostly.”

“Ah, I see.”

The Witch settled into a quiet contemplation as she watched Fareeha move, the late sun glinting in her hair. “Your sword,” she said, when there was a break in the movement, “did you choose it?”

Fareeha made a so-so gesture with her free hand, her eyes still fixed on the imaginary target. “It’s a standard-issue guard sword, intended as more of a secondary weapon in case anyone gets too close. I judged it as my best choice, but then again, I didn’t have very many options.”

“But you’re happy with it?”

“It’s not bad. Comfortable to wield, a good balance between weight and power.” Fareeha shrugged. “I won’t complain.”

“I see.” The Witch had a thoughtful air about her. She changed the subject. “I understand that there are set angles of attack?”

Fareeha brightened. “Oh, yes. Good for power, control, and defensibility. There’s eight basic ones.” She traced the lines in the air—vertical, horizontal, diagonal. “The rest are generally variations. And to guard against them…” She moved through a handful of parries, then slipped back into her starting position. “Though the best option is usually to simply not get hit in the first place.”

“You’re taking these slowly,” the Witch observed.

“You said you wanted to watch.” Fareeha moved her sword in a slow downwards slash. “Besides, it’s better to be slow and careful. Make sure you do it right. Getting rushed and sloppy is dangerous.”

“That could be said of many things, I suppose.”

“Precision, focus, flexibility, and strength in body and mind.” Fareeha moved through her sequence of exercises again, and ended it with a wry smile. “Achieve that, and maybe you’ll survive to see another fight.”

“How optimistic.” The Witch cocked her head. “Do you know much about swords themselves?”

“Like what? The metal? The design? The techniques? The history?”

The Witch had to smother her smile. “All of the above?”

“Yes,” was the immediate answer. “Anything in particular that you want to know, or am I free to ramble?”

The Witch shook her head. “Ramble away.” She lowered her head, propping her chin up on her knees. “It’s cute, anyways,” she said, quietly.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

They spent the afternoon together, the Witch sitting under a tree, watching as Fareeha worked through her regimen of exercises and drills, interrupting only infrequently to comment or ask follow-up questions. Fareeha shone with enthusiasm, a lifetime of study bubbling up to the surface, reigned in only by the shyness of an unconventional, often lonely bookworm.

“You’re an avid reader, aren’t you?” The Witch said, when Fareeha finally began to run out of things to talk about.

Fareeha lowered her sword and nodded, looking askance. “I… yeah. There was a library…”

“It’s admirable.” The Witch nodded back towards the cave. “Have you looked at any of Satya’s collection?”

“I… thought about it, but I don’t think she would appreciate me nosing around.”

“Try asking. She’s always a supporter of education, and she does have some very interesting tomes in her collection.”

“I’ll try,” Fareeha said doubtfully. She looked up at the sky, now a pale lavender wash. “We’ve been out here for a while… I didn’t mean to stay out this long.”

“But I am glad that you did.” The Witch stood, brushing herself off. “I’ll be right back.”

Fareeha watched her go. She shrugged, and began to cool down. Without the exertion to keep her warm, the air was beginning to feel more and more cold, especially with the sweat on her skin.

“Here.” Fareeha looked up. The Witch was back. She had a towel in her hand. She tossed it over.

Fareeha snatched it out of the air without blinking an eye. “Thanks.” She missed the expression that flitted across the Witch’s face.

The Witch quickly averted her eyes. “Of course.” This was not part of the plan. She bit her lip. But… A shadow fell across her.

The Witch looked up, and any other thoughts she had in her head died. Fareeha had hawk eyes. Fierce, determined, and wildly beautiful, especially when the sun slanted across them, lighting rich and striking in their depths. The other half was in cool blue shadow as she looked down at the Witch, the brown of her eyes dark and piercing. She smelled like wood smoke and pine trees, earthy, green, and warm. Her eyes dipped down.

The Witch followed her gaze to the jacket by her feet, and she hastily stepped away, any words that she could piece together catching in her throat. Fareeha picked up her jacket and pulled it on in one smooth maneuver. She shook her head and pulled her fingers through her hair, looking over her shoulder at the Witch. “I’m heading back. Are you coming with?”

_ Yes_. “No.” The Witch shook her head, mustering a mostly-even voice. “I’ll see you later.”

Fareeha regarded her curiously, but shrugged. “Alright then.”

The Witch watched her disappear into the trees, and touched a hand to her chest, willing her pulse to calm. No. This had not been part of the plan at all. But it really was fascinating, the way she switched so quickly from cold efficiency, to dry humor, to bright, genuine enthusiasm. The Witch shook her head. Her fingers found the pendant, brushing over the azalea’s petals. She wore it because it would endear her to Fareeha. It would inspire loyalty. No other reason. No other reason at all. Her resolve was crumbling even as she thought it.

The Witch stood where she was for a long time, trying and failing to convince herself that she was not getting sentimental. The Witch of the Wilds did not love. She should not love. And yet… Her fingers clenched into a fist around the flower. For all her power, she still could not master her own heart.

***

“You’re back late.” Satya looked up from the fire.

“S…” Fareeha trailed off as Satya’s eyes hardened. “I assume you’d prefer to be called ‘Summoner’.”

Satya inclined her head, jaw set. She turned back to the fire. Fareeha could smell cooking food in the air. “The Witch may have other preferences,” she said, her voice low.

Fareeha cocked her head. “I won’t pretend to be your friend when I am not.”

Satya frowned, but said nothing more on the topic. “I took over for cooking, since you couldn’t make it back on time.”

“I’m sorry to have caused any inconvenience,” Fareeha said flatly.

“Hm.” Satya pulled the pan off the fire. Fareeha didn’t know that they even had a pan, much to her chagrin. She swallowed the feeling, consoling herself with the fact that she had never asked. Satya glanced over Fareeha’s shoulder. “No Witch?”

Fareeha shook her head. “No. She said she was staying out.”

Satya nodded at the table. “Then we have no reason to wait.”

Dinner was simple, as it was bound to be, all the way out here, but it was good. The food was a combination of what both Satya and Fareeha had brought with them—Satya had stores of bread and cheese, though the little butter that there was, which spoiled more easily, had been mostly Fareeha’s contribution. There was some salted and cured meat as well, but Satya in particular seemed to prefer fresh meat, and Fareeha was generally willing to hunt, fish, and forage as needed.

The evening’s fare was fish and wild root vegetables, the fruits of Fareeha’s labor from the previous day—she had hiked back down to the river, returning only in the evening. Satya had chosen to salt and sear it, topping it off with seasoning presumably obtained from her own stocks of dried herbs. Fareeha was pleasantly surprised to discover that Satya was a good cook, when she felt like it. It was hearty, smoky, and flavorful, and a good compliment to the mint tea that was in the pot.

Dinner was quiet, as usual. Satya seemed to prefer it that way. She had taken some time to even begin to begrudgingly eat with Fareeha, and Fareeha, despite herself, liked the company. As prickly as Satya might be, Fareeha was happy to respect her wishes. Even the usually talkative Witch, who occasionally joined them, was generally content to be quiet and enjoy her food. As for the Reaper, he did not eat, and rarely spoke.

The light from the cave’s mouth turned dim and blue as the sun set outside, the warm orange of the fires that lit the cavern slowly taking over. Fareeha finished first; while they were both neat, Satya was the more meticulous eater. She stayed where she was as she waited, her fingers tented, watching the shifting light.

“I can clean up,” Fareeha said, as soon as Satya was done. “You cooked, after all.”

Satya simply nodded in acknowledgement, stood, and disappeared into one of the back rooms, leaving Fareeha alone to work and enjoy the evening. Fareeha looked up to the cavern’s entrance every so often, measuring the time in the color of the light. It took her longer than usual to wash and put everything away.

She stepped outside when she was done, slipping through the short tunnel and emerging into the night, the air cold on her face after the warmth of the cavern. She tilted her head back, watching the milky lavender glow of the sunset fade away from a dark blue sky, the stars twinkling above her.

Fareeha’s gaze snapped down when she heard the bushes rustle, tensing up.

“It’s me.” Fareeha relaxed at the familiar voice. The Witch of the Wilds stepped out of the shadows. She held up a bottle in one hand. “How would you feel about a drink?”

Fareeha cocked her head. “What kind?”

“Elderflower wine. I’m afraid it’s better for drinking chilled on a warm afternoon, but I have a soft spot for it.”

“Elderflower. I don’t believe I’ve had it before.”

“Come on, then.” The Witch beckoned, stepping back towards the forest. “It’s harder to see the stars with firelight in your eyes. I know a good spot.”

It was a short walk. The Witch cast no lights this time, but she walked at Fareeha’s side, and there was just enough starlight to see by. The forest opened up before them, revealing a small, grassy glade. Instead of going to the center, the Witch chose to sit under one of the trees at its edges, the roots choked with moss and ferns.

Fareeha took her time, walking out into the middle of the clear patch and looking up, admiring the stars. The sky was beautiful, deep blue-black, darker than anything, shining with innumerable glimmering points. Fareeha let out a small breath. It felt like she could get lost in it if she looked for too long. She turned her head over her shoulder, and picked her way back to the Witch, carefully sitting down beside her, trying not to crush too many of the plants.

The Witch opened the bottle, setting the cork aside. “It’s a cloudless night,” she said, idly.

“It is.” Fareeha looked up again, the admiration clear in her voice. “It’s a good night.”

The Witch nodded. She held the bottle up to her nose, and took a deep breath. The sweet, floral scent of the wine filled the cold, crisp air between them. “It’s been a while,” she murmured.

Fareeha watched her, eyes focusing on the faint shine on the bottle’s smooth glass. “Where did you get it?”

The Witch shrugged. “I have my ways.” She changed the subject. “I didn’t get cups, I hope that’s alright.”

“Drinking straight out of the bottle?” Fareeha raised an eyebrow. “How undignified, especially coming from you.”

“Oh bite me,” the Witch replied. She lifted the bottle to her lips and tipped it back. “Besides,” she said, tilting it down again, “you’d be surprised at how… ‘undignified’ I can be.”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing.” Fareeha held out a hand. The Witch obligingly passed the bottle over.

Fareeha understood what the Witch meant as soon as she tasted the wine. It was light, bright, and sweet, fragrant with floral and citrus flavor. It tasted immediately like something that would want to be drunk under the sun. Fareeha pulled the bottle away and licked her lips. It still tasted very good.

The Witch watched her. “How is it?”

“Good.” Fareeha offered the bottle back to her. She took it. “I see why you like it so much.”

The Witch took another swig before replying. “It’s not hard to make.”

“You made this?”

“Well no, not this in particular.” The Witch smiled ruefully. “I don’t have much time for it, and when I do, I can never seem to get it right. As easy as it is in theory.”

“It’s nice,” Fareeha said, settling back against the earth, “to be able to make something good.”

The Witch looked at her in surprise. “What an odd thing to say.”

“Is it?” Fareeha tilted her head. “I mean that… even if it’s not perfect.”

“Ah.” A note of understanding touched the Witch’s voice. “It’s only ever tasted disappointing to me, but perhaps I will try harder, hm?”

“Will you invite me to come sample and give my opinion?” Fareeha laughed as the Witch reached over to playfully swat her shoulder.

“I did say it’s best on a sunny afternoon,” the Witch mused. “Perhaps one day I’ll get it right, and I can show you. A warm day and a bottle of sweet elderflower and lemon wine to share.”

“Is that a promise?”

“_If _I get it right.” Still, the Witch smiled. “But yes, I suppose it is.”

“Then I’ll hold you to it.” Fareeha held up a hand. The Witch looked down at it, and, almost nervously reached out to clasp it. “This really is nice though,” she said. She took the bottle back and had another drink.

“You say you’ve never had it before?”

“I suppose I don’t drink a lot. Beer, and ale, and sometimes whiskey or gin with the crew—the guards—back home, and some wine here and there for more special occasions. Mom was never much for it; we didn’t have a lot of it around the house.” Fareeha shrugged. “We used to have more, when her friends would come to visit, but…”

The Witch looked at her. “I see.” She could see the sadness in Fareeha’s expression. “Was it a quiet house?”

Fareeha shrugged again. “My mother certainly got quieter and more solemn in the later years, but overall… not really, I guess. She was stern, but fiery.” Fareeha grinned. “I guess I was too.”

“Oh?”

“Looking back, I was a bit of a handful, even for her. I would often run off and get myself into all kinds of trouble.”

“Trouble, you say.”

“You know. Exploring where I shouldn’t, like the town rooftops, trying to do things that I shouldn’t, like trying to catch fish with my bare hands in the woods, getting into fights…”

“Fights?” The Witch raised her eyebrows. “And you call me undignified.”

Fareeha sniffed. “I was young. And they were all for a noble cause.”

“Mm, I’m sure.”

“Besides, my mother taught me how to defend myself. The other kids never stood a chance.”

The Witch had to stifle her laughter with her hand. “Ruthless, aren’t we?”

“Like I said, for a noble cause.” Fareeha lifted her chin. The Witch snickered.

“And did you say the town rooftops?”

“The old wall is crumbling; it’s easy to get on top of. There’s a few spots where there’s trees or where the rooftops dip just enough to climb onto. I always thought it was fascinating. Like a whole new world.” Fareeha smiled. “There are usually birds up there; sometimes even a cat or two. I found a few trinkets that I’m guessing the animals took up. Beads and bits of metal and colored glass and such.”

“Climbing rooftops when one is so young…” The Witch shook her head. “I never would have imagined… did you never get hurt?”

“No,” Fareeha replied, matter-of-factly. “I stopped when it could no longer be explained under ‘childish shenanigans’. And when I got big enough that people started caring about my running around over their heads.”

“So I would assume.” The Witch settled back as well. “The Reaper almost fell off a roof once, you know.”

Fareeha turned her head. “Did he actually?”

The Witch snorted. “Oh yes. He can see in the dark, but he wasn’t paying too much attention and slipped. I have never heard so many profanities out of him.”

Fareeha imagined the menacing shadow, with its high collar and long cloak, tripping and falling off a roof. At the sound of her laughter, the Witch, too, smiled, warm and almost relieved in the faint light.

They stayed like that for a long time, sitting together in the moss and ferns, under the tree in the glade, watching the stars, listening to the wind in the leaves, slowly drinking and passing the elderberry wine back and forth, and trading stories. Fareeha had not smiled so much in a long time. Neither had the Witch.

Eventually, Fareeha sighed, a faint, warm, pleasant buzz on her tongue and in her head. She had only been taking sips, but the bottle had passed often between the two. “I shouldn’t drink too much.” She rubbed her eyes. “I’ll regret it in the morning… and I still have to walk back in the dark…”

“As you wish.” The Witch closed the bottle. “But you shouldn’t worry. You could even stay here, if you like.”

“Stay here?” Fareeha frowned. “But the forest gets dangerous…”

“Does it?” The Witch turned her head. “Has it, recently?”

“Of course it…” Fareeha trailed off, thinking back. “It… hasn’t.” She couldn’t remember feeling truly threatened in the woods, not in the past month at least. She turned to glance at the Witch. “What—”

“This is the Wilds.” The Witch rolled over, her legs straddling Fareeha’s waist. Fareeha’s eyes widened. “And I am its Witch. You need only fear it as much as you fear me.”

“And how much is that?” Fareeha breathed.

The Witch smiled, but didn’t reply. Her eyes flicked down to Fareeha’s lips, and she took her chin in her hand, tilting it up slightly. Her other hand went to Fareeha’s chest, gently nudging her to settle into the ferns. Her gloves were soft, cool against Fareeha’s warm skin. “May I?”

Fareeha had no words. She was terribly aware of her heart pounding, of the sudden quickness of her breath. She nodded.

The Witch leaned down, and Fareeha could feel her breath just before their lips met. She was soft, both insistent and a touch shy, and tasted like lemon and elderflowers. They broke apart, and for a moment they found each other’s eyes. Then, Fareeha reached up, wrapping one arm around the Witch’s shoulders, the other around her neck, pulling her close again, and the Witch, in turn, threaded her fingers in Fareeha’s hair, a hint of desperation in the way that she clung to her.

Sometimes it didn’t hurt to indulge.

***

“Where’s the brat?” The Reaper stood tall in the darkness, eyes glowering out of the shadowy back corner.

Satya spared him only a glance. “Out. With her, I’d expect.”

“They’re getting along well.” The Reaper stepped away from the wall, voice lowering. “The Witch has no time to be playing games.”

Satya shrugged. “That is not our business.”

“Quite the contrary,” the Reaper hissed. He stopped at her side. “She would have us wait here for another year, sitting idle so she can chase her little fantasies. She suffered a blow that night, yet she is content to ignore it. Do you realize what that means for us?”

Satya was silent for a long time. “I do not see what you mean,” she said, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice.

“She’s weaker than she has been in a long, long time.”

“You mean to betray her.”

“We are sitting here, hiding, watching our influence fade, waiting for our enemies to close in, and she is binding us to it by holding her deals over our heads. You’re not happy with this either.” The Reaper’s voice softened, lowered. “Think about what you could do with her power, and the freedom to use it.”

Satya looked around. She lowered her voice, despite the empty room. “We would never win a confrontation. She would still rip every last spark of that power and then some from the both of us if we turned on her.”

“We would never win a _ direct _ confrontation,” the Reaper corrected. “But we can win.”


	10. X.

Torbjörn and Brigitte had brought horses of their own—stout, long-haired creatures from the north, built to soldier through the most hostile of environments. Brigitte’s was taller. It was a mild-mannered, sandy-brown thing, a stark contrast to Torbjörn’s shorter, more irritable grey. Ana was rather amused by how well they matched their riders’ personalities. Her own was more slender by comparison, dark brown with a black mane, and faster and more agile than the other two.

They set a steady pace. The Lindholms took time every night to check their course, searching for hints of their quarry, and adjusting the next day’s plan as needed. Aside from that, the nightly routine was fairly mundane. Brigitte was almost as enthused about animals as she was about food. After setting up camp, she spent most of her time cooking, eating, or fussing over the horses. Torbjörn busied himself with checking and preparing equipment, and Ana merely helped where she could, and otherwise simply stayed out of the way.

They moved south, following the road, until they happened upon a river. Here, they diverged from the path, instead beginning to follow the river upstream, into the heart of the mountain range.

They were young mountains, tall and jagged, dark with pine and fir on their higher slopes, mellowing into the fall oranges and browns of the shedding trees in the valleys between them. Ana often found herself gazing at the river, watching the brown and silver of the water, peering into its rippling shallows and watching the leaves drift by, yellow, brown, red, and orange, turning black around the edges. Sometimes there would be a branch, wedged against an outcropping rock, stripped of most or even all of its leaves by the cold current.

The river was, as a whole, welcome. It guided the way, and was both a source of fresh water—easily potted and boiled for drinking—and food, whenever Brigitte managed to catch a fish or two.

“You don’t shoot,” Ana observed one day. “Not even a crossbow.”

Brigitte, to her left, looked over. “Oh, no. I never really learned.”

Ana raised her eyebrows. “Never?”

“I never wanted to learn.” Brigitte grinned. “I’m better at hitting things. Hard.”

Ana snorted. “I see.”

“I guess I can throw,” Brigitte continued. “That’s good enough for me.”

Don’t get cocky,” Torbjörn called, from his position at the front of the group. “Ana’s got the best throwing arm I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Brigitte’s head turned first to her father, then swiveled to look Ana up and down. “Do you?” Her eyes lit up. “You know, the next time it snows…”

“You want a duel?” Ana lifted her chin. “Child, you would get destroyed.”

“Don’t be so sure!” Brigitte stuck out her tongue. “I’m better than you might think!”

“And I’m the best. Didn’t you hear him?” Ana jerked her head towards Torbjörn’s back, her light-grey hair falling over her shoulder. She had taken to braiding it back more and more these days, if only to avoid having it whipped into her face by the winds.

“Then I will do my best to learn from the master.” Brigitte lifted her chin as well, giving herself a remarkably dignified air.

Ana considered her, then laughed, and turned to Torbjörn. “You have a good daughter,” she called.

“I know!” She could almost hear the beam in his voice.

“Very well then.” Ana turned again to Brigitte, her voice grave. “Next time it snows…”

“You’re on.” Brigitte’s response was just as serious.

“If either of you get sick, it’s not my fault,” Torbjörn said.

“Never,” Ana replied. Beside her, Brigitte snickered and shook her head. Ana got the sense that Torbjörn was rolling his eyes.

***

A little over a week after beginning to follow the river, the three came upon a huge lake, so wide that its far shoreline was barely visible. They approached it at sunset, so both Torbjörn and Ana agreed to stop and rest for the night before taking stock of the situation in the morning.

The morning dawned over a layer of mist hanging over the water, white and gauzy in the weak sunlight. Ana stood by the water, eyes hunting for the opposite shore. Torbjörn stood behind her, watching, while Brigitte tended to the camp.

“Nothing,” Ana said at last. Even her sharp eye could not see across the lake. “We will have to wait until the mist burns up.”

Torbjörn looked up at the overcast sky. “If it burns up. Looks like rain. We might not get good visibility for a while yet.” He scowled. “I don’t like waiting around.”

Ana shook her head. “We have little other choice.”

“If we strike out and head straight in one direction, we will reach a shore.”

“And we will not know where we are. We need to follow the river; you might as well just pick a direction and start walking around.” Ana pulled her hood up and turned, heading back towards the fire. “It would be wisest to wait for now.”

Torbjörn followed her, but only reluctantly.

They moved the camp back, under the trees. It was a good thing too, for shortly afterwards, it began to rain. The fat drops dripped through the branches, hissing in the fire and tapping morosely on everybody’s heads. Brigitte eventually decided that it would be worth the effort to build a better shelter, and the other two, having little else to do, helped her.

Night had fallen when they were done, and the rain had not let up, but now all three were warm and dry, if not a bit cramped. There was just enough room away from the fire for Torbjörn to lay out his old map.

“We’re around here,” he said gruffly, tapping a point on the parchment. Ana studied the inked lines, lips drawn together in a frown. The entire area was only roughly charted. There was the mountains, the river, and the lake. Shortly after that, the map became blank.

“Unknown territory,” she said, low and under her breath. “I don’t like it.”

“We don’t have any choice.” Torbjörn moved his finger up the river, to just before where the map stopped. “The river crosses the base of a mountain here—the same one that we saw the fire from. Knowing her, she’s moved already, but it’ll offer the clearest trail to her new location.”

Brigitte nodded along. “It looks like a few more days up the river?”

“And the map says the river feeds into the lake from the east.” Torbjörn looked up, and met Ana’s eye. “We leave in the next two days, even if we still can’t see the other side. It gives us enough time to make a raft.”

Ana held his gaze for a minute, then lowered her own, conceding. “Very well,” she said. “Whichever comes first. Clear weather, or two days.”

Clear weather did not come. If it wasn’t raining, there was a heavy fog. On the afternoon of the second day, Ana found herself standing once again at the waterside, looking for any hint of land. She thought she might be able to see a dark mass along the horizon, but nothing was clear enough to distinguish.

Behind her, Torbjörn cleared his throat.

Ana turned, face impassive. “Nothing,” she said, flatly. They would leave the following morning. Still, something nagged at her. “Is the raft ready?”

Torbjörn blinked. “Sure, but—”

“Let me go out. I may have a better view from in the middle of the lake.”

Torbjörn’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “And how are you getting back?”

“Keep the fire lit. Its light should be more than enough. I will be back before nightfall.”

“In that?” Torbjörn nodded at the fog. “It’s thick.”

“If it is too thick to see the fire through, then it is too thick to safety sail through.” Ana leveled a stare at Torbjörn, daring him to challenge her.

In the end, he did not. He simply called over Brigitte, and together they set about detaching a smaller portion of the main vessel. Small enough for one person to handle. As they worked, Ana sat by the fire, feeding it high and taking stock of her supplies. Her potions.

She left around noon, just after a light lunch. The Lindholms saw her off on the beach, and watched her go until she disappeared into the fog. The air was still, and the water was calm. It was a safe enough day for sailing, at least.

Ana brought a lantern with her, but she kept it unlit. She looked back every so often, checking for the fire. The orange and yellow light soon grew dim and pale, a white smear in the blurry grey. It was almost gone when the silhouettes of the first trees began to loom in the distance. Ana could see their tall, pointed tops, and dark, needled boughs, the fog curling thick around them.

There was something else there too. Ana reached for her rifle, her fingers closing over the familiar grip, as orange globes of light began to appear in front of her. The fog parted, and a figure emerged.

“Good afternoon.” The Witch’s broom hovered above the surface of the water, the Witch itself sitting on it, legs crossed. She looked down at Ana, regarding her with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Where is she?” Ana’s voice was strained.

The Witch tilted her head innocently. “Who?”

“My daughter.” 

“Ah, of course.” The Witch’s tapped a finger to her lips. “I must say, she is lovely. You should be proud of yourself.”

Ana’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I have defeated you before, Witch, and I will do so again, and again, as many times as it takes.” 

“Such willpower,” The Witch purred. “I do admire it. But there is no need for that.”

“Where is she?”

“If you must know, she’s safe, and happy,” the Witch said, nonchalantly. “Where you will never reach her.”

“That is not an answer. I have little patience for lies or riddles today, Witch.”

“Oh, but it is an answer, and I am telling the truth.” The Witch leaned forward. Ana fervently hoped that she would fall into the lake. “She doesn’t want to leave. You’ll never get her back… without my help, of course.”

Ana’s eyes were cold, masking the nauseating fear in her stomach. _Doesn’t want to leave?_ The Witch smiled at her. “I hope you didn’t take that whole Aldersbrunn thing personally. It truly wasn’t my intention.”

Ana looked around, turning her head slightly. “No Reaper today?”

“He wants you dead,” the Witch replied matter-of-factly. “I thought that might put a damper on the conversation.”

“It might remind me of what happens to those that make deals with you.” Ana’s eye returned to the Witch, settling cold and flinty on her face. “You know my answer. Never.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed the Witch’s face. “Ah,” she said. “I’m sorry to hear that. In that case…” she swept her arm out, gesturing to the trees behind her. “You’ve reached the island in the middle of the lake. You will go no further.”

Ana stood where she was, staring the Witch down. The Witch stared back, impassive. “I see,” Ana said, slowly. “They will be disappointed to have wasted their time crafting a raft.”

“It’s a shame.” The Witch shrugged. “But unavoidable, if we continue to disagree like this. The Summoner is a dear friend, after all.” The fog began to close in again, tendrils of it encircling the raft, softening the Witch’s lights.

“Loyal servant, more like,” Ana muttered. “But you don’t care about the difference, do you?”

The Witch's smile grew strained. She waved a hand, and the mist began to move faster into the clear space. “Oh and Alchemist,” she said, just before she was obscured, “don’t be so sure about winning. I was unprepared last time. I will not be again.”

With those final words, the Witch and her lights disappeared, leaving Ana alone on the lake, in the middle of the swirling fog. She looked over her shoulder, and found the smudge of light that was the bonfire guiding her back. Then she looked forward, at the dark trees lancing through the air.

She turned, and began to make her slow journey back to shore.

***

Brigitte came to meet her, holding a torch aloft like a beacon. “How was it?”

Ana stepped from the raft, head bent. “We cannot pass this way,” she said. The Witch’s words still rang in her ears.

“What?”

“I said, we can’t go.” Ana looked around, distractedly. She stepped into the waters, her feet splashing through the shallows, pebbles crunching.

“What happened?” Torbjörn approached from the direction of the fire. “What did you see?”

“The Witch intercepted me. She knows we are here, and why we are coming.” Both Lindholms were silent as Ana continued. “We can’t afford to fight her. Even if we win, we will be too weak to attack the Summoner as well.”

“So…” Brigitte said, after a moment of silence, “what do we do?”

“Subvert her,” Torbjörn replied. He didn’t seem happy about it. “We have options. Wait until she’s distracted. Either fool her into looking away, or let her do it of her own accord. Slip in with a route that she wouldn’t think of watching. Trick her into a deal that’s disadvantageous for her.” At the last one, both he and Ana scowled.

“Alright,” Brigitte said, uncertainly. “That’s doable.”

“But difficult.” Ana bent down, plunging her fingers into the icy water.

“What are you doing there?” Torbjörn called.

“Looking for something. I was reminded of it, out on the lake…” Ana pulled something from the water, slipped it into her pocket, and reached down again.

Both Brigitte and Torbjörn watched her curiously until she was finished. She waded out of the lake, solemn, as she was wont to be, and walked to the fire. There, she sat, and pulled a handful of colorful stones out of her pocket, holding them up to the flames to dry.

“What…” Brigitte trailed off.

“They’re not seashells,” Ana murmured, “but I hope they will be good enough.” She closed her fingers, feeling the stones in her fist. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time now.


	11. XI.

“How are the others treating you?”

“They’re fine. They mind their business, I mind mine.” The dappled shadows of the leaves slid over Fareeha’s hair as she picked her way over a cluster of gnarled roots.

“Neither is very sociable; I’m happy to hear that you’re not taking it personally.” The Witch walked beside her, her gait confident and even, only occasionally glancing at the ground. “They’re leaving each other alone, I assume?”

Fareeha shrugged. “Honestly, they get along more with each other than with me”

The Witch arched an eyebrow, giving Fareeha a curious look. “Now that is surprising. I’ve never known them to get along.”

“They—all of you have known each other for far longer than you’ve known me.” Fareeha shrugged again. “Perhaps they’re just finding some solidarity in that.”

“Perhaps.” The Witch sounded unconvinced. She looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the cave. When she noticed Fareeha’s questioning gaze, she shook her head and smiled. “And have you asked Satya about her books?”

Fareeha’s eyes lit up. “She’s given me permission to read through some of them. I’m afraid that I’ll run out of room in my current journal.” She shook her hand and laughed. “I’ve been writing so small that my hand’s cramping.”

“You’re taking notes?” The Witch’s eyes flicked to Fareeha’s hand, noticing the smudges of ink on the side.

“A lot of it’s worth remembering. I’ve burned through three notebooks already, ever since I left home.” Fareeha made a so-so motion with her hand. “Well, two and a half.”

“How studious of you. And this is your last journal?”

Fareeha nodded. “I’m doing the best I can to keep it efficient and organized.”

The Witch laughed. “Oh, I’d like to see that. My writing has always been on the messy side, I’m afraid.”

“Has it now?” Fareeha let out a short huff of amusement. She fell silent as she turned her concentration to scrambling down a small, rocky slope.

“Where are we going?” Fareeha asked, when she reached the bottom. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” she added sheepishly.

“You’re very trusting, aren’t you? Following me all this time without even knowing where I’m leading you.” The Witch gestured around. “For all you know, I could be luring you to a bear.”

“I admit that there’s some lovely irony to the idea, considering how we met,” Fareeha replied, “but if you must feed me to ravenous wild animals, I would prefer wolves.”

The Witch laughed. “Duly noted. Is there any particular reason?”

“I just like them better.”

“Ah, so you have something against bears. That makes sense—”

“I have never said that.” Fareeha sniffed disdainfully. “Besides, you didn’t actually answer the question.”

“How discerning.” The Witch pointed ahead, to where Fareeha could see the trees begin to thin. “See for yourself.”

They emerged on a shallow knoll overlooking a small pond, a round coin of dark, blue-grey water wreathed in grey ice and stiff, brown reeds. Beyond it, the trees encircled a field of grass, cut through by a thin, now-dry streambed.

“It’s not a bad view.” The Witch nodded out over the pond. Beyond the meadow, the land sloped again, revealing a valley far below.

“Are we just enjoying it, or…” Fareeha trailed off, glancing quickly at the Witch.

The Witcher lips curled into a wry smile. “Or what? Do you think I’m going to ask you to help me catch newts, perhaps?”

“Why would you…” Fareeha turned, giving the Witch an incredulous look. “You don’t actually use those for anything, do you?”

“Like brewing them into potions?” The Witch grinned. “That’s just a children’s tale, my dear. If anything, I’d be after snakes.”

Fareeha eyed the pond and meadow dubiously.

“They’re still not terribly useful,” the Witch added, amused. “And I wouldn’t ask you to catch them for me regardless.”

“What do you even use snakes for?”

“Take a guess.”

“Medicine?”

“Sure.” The Witch shrugged. “They’re also good at scaring people.”

“And here I thought you had the Reaper for that.”

“Oh, he’s scary, but he’s generally too large to be an effective ornament. And besides,” the Witch said, airily, “snakes are lovely to look at.”

“I can’t argue with you on that.”

The Witch sat down, folding her legs and settling her hands loosely in her lap. She looked out over the meadow and hummed. “Not a bad place for lunch, don’t you think?”

Fareeha sat down beside her, stretching out her legs and following the Witch’s gaze. “This place must be beautiful in the spring,” she said. “When the plants are in bloom.”

The Witch nodded. She snapped her fingers, little yellow and electric blue sparks lighting up on her fingertips. She pressed them together into a bright green in her palm. She passed her hand over the ground, the plants becoming green and sending up small white and yellow flowers in her wake. Then, she shook her head, flicking her fingers. Fareeha watched as the plants withered again. “It’s best to let them rest,” the Witch said. “Let them show their full potential when they are ready.”

Fareeha leaned back. “There’s one about you, you know,” she said, watching the Witch’s fingers play across the grass.

“Hm?” The Witch tilted her head curiously.

“A book about you. Sort of.” Fareeha flicked her fingers. “You know, history. Folklore.”

“Ah.” An understanding smile washed over the Witch’s face. “What does it have to say?”

“It was mostly speculation, to be honest.” Fareeha furrowed her brow, thinking back. “Very little of it kind,” she added sheepishly.

The Witch didn’t even try to hide her grin. “Oh, I’m used to that by now.”

“They say…” Fareeha looked away, suddenly shaken under the Witch’s gaze.

“They say a lot of things about me.”

“And how much of it is true?”

“What a broad question,” the Witch replied. “I like flowers and long walks in the woods. My favorite kinds of weather are rain and partial cloud cover. I may on occasion be considered dramatic.” At this, Fareeha raised an eyebrow. The Witch ignored her. “I like my rest, and tend to be in a bad mood when I get woken up before I want to. I do have a broom, and it does fly. I brew potions, but quite frankly I don’t do it often. I’m more of a spellcaster. Contrary to popular belief, my eyes are blue, not green.”

“This particular author was more curious about your motives, but interesting.”

“My motives?” The Witch shook her head. “I thought that would be easy. My greatest ability has always been the ability to give people what they want. I merely ask that I get my proper dues. I think that’s fair.”

Fareeha supposed it made sense. The Witch of the Wilds was said to be able to sense strong desire, exploiting it for her own ends. What a being like her could possibly want from those who came under her power, was a matter of debate. Fareeha thought that bluntly asking her what she wanted would be rude, so she didn’t ask. She just murmured a vague assent, and closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her face.

After a few minutes, the Witch gingerly leaned against her arm. Fareeha cracked open an eye when she felt the slight shiver pass through her shoulders. She sighed, and gently eased her arm away, holding open her jacket. “Do you ever wear so much as a cloak?”

“Not really.” The Witch curled up against her side. She sounded rather cheerful about it.

“Am I allowed to call you a bastard?”

“You’re allowed to call me anything,” the Witch muttered.

Fareeha let out a short huff. “You might regret that.” More importantly, one jacket fit poorly around two shoulders. “Come here.” She wrapped an arm around the Witch’s waist, and pulled her into her lap. Fareeha wrapped her arms and jacket loosely around her settled down again, letting out a contented sigh. The Witch was not shivering anymore.

The Witch wriggled in her arms, turning around to press her cheek against Fareeha’s chest. Fareeha eyed her. “Comfortable?”

“Thanks.” The Witch quicky tilted her head back and brushed a quick kiss against Fareeha’s jaw. The quip that had jumped to her mind died in her throat. Instead, she just placed her chin on the top of the Witch’s head, pulled her closer, and closed her eyes again.

“We were going to do lunch, weren’t we?” Fareeha said, after some time.

“If you’re still in the mood for it.” The Witch shrugged. “I got berry tarts,” she added, distractedly. “And chocolate.”

Fareeha stirred, opening her eyes again and frowning down at her. “How did..?”

“Secret.” The Witch stuck out her tongue. “I wanted some sugar, that’s all. I had a feeling you did too.”

“I love you.” Fareeha stretched. The Witch made a small sound, suddenly and unceremoniously exposed once more to the cold air. “Ah, sorry.”

“A bit of bread, meat, cheese, and vegetables too,” the Witch grumbled, snapping her fingers. A dark bag appeared in the air, dropping into the grass at Fareeha’s side.

Fareeha looked down at the Witch, still curled up against her chest. “Are you just going to stay there, or…”

The Witch mumbled something about “warm”.

“It’s not a great position to eat in, to be honest.”

The Witch groaned, and, finally, reluctantly, unfolded her legs, scooting into the grass.

“Thank you.” Fareeha had to resist the urge to reach over and ruffle her hair. For some reason, the Witch reminded her of a cat. That is, she seemed generally confident and easy-going, but became very quickly disgruntled when forced out of a comfortable position. She also seemed to be the sly, resourceful sort, but privately Fareeha thought that cats weren’t always quite as smart as people liked to give them credit for.

The Witch cheered right up when Fareeha dropped a handful of chocolate in her lap, her mood shifting so quickly that Fareeha almost laughed out loud. The Witch managed a dignified incline of her head, the shadow of her hat’s wide brim sweeping over her face.

“You should eat a proper meal first.” Fareeha worked quickly, pulling a knife from her belt and cutting thick slices of bread, and thinner slices of meat and cheese. She piled the savory components into the Witch’s hands. “I’ll feel bad otherwise,” she added, when it looked like the Witch was about to argue.

The Witch hesitated, then relented. She ate quickly and relatively neatly, but not so neatly as Satya. She had a sort of simple elegance to her, an everyday ease that Fareeha found oddly charming. It was the most, well, ordinary thing that she had seen the Witch do. Even the legendary Witch of the Wilds sometimes sat in the grass and ate homemade sandwiches. It was a comforting idea.

“Do you have to eat? There are those days when you’re not around,” Fareeha mused, quietly.

“Depends.” The Witch’s brushed crumbs off of her gloves and picked up a piece of chocolate, a decidedly more excited sparkle in her eyes. “But it is fun.”

Fareeha picked her own piece of chocolate, nibbling at the edge, savoring the taste. “What about sleep?”

“Again, depends.” The Witch turned, her earrings glinting in the sunlight. “Why, are you really so interested in my bed habits?”

Fareeha flushed, eyes flitting away. “No—I mean—”

“Shame.” The Witch said it so quickly and off-handedly that Fareeha almost didn’t process it. She gave Fareeha mischievous grin, and turned her attention back to her sweets.

Fareeha pondered her response for a few moments. “It’s the middle of the day,” she began.

The Witch quickly glanced up, eyes bright and surprised. “So?”

“So hold the thought until later.” Fareeha winked and turned away herself, leaving the Witch to choke on her pastry. “For now,” Fareeha continued, stretching out and laying down in the grass, closing her eyes, “Let’s enjoy the day.”

***

Fareeha turned the page gingerly, easing her fingers under the thin, delicate parchment, her eyes darting to the cramped, scrawling writing. She pursed her lips, then sat back, closing her eyes for a brief rest.

When she opened them again, there was a shadow over the book. Fareeha looked up, right into Satya’s eyes. She looked down at the book. “Was this one off-limits?”

“No.” Satya gestured over her shoulder. The Reaper loomed just out of the range of the light, as he was prone to do. Fareeha recalled that the two had been standing together, heads close, speaking quietly when she got back. He looked around, nodded, and crept closer. “We need to talk.”

Fareeha looked between the two of them. “What is it?”

“You.” The Reaper leaned into the globe of light that Fareeha had been reading by. “You’re being played like a fool.”

Satya held up a hand, quietly cutting him off. “Manipulated, in other words.”

Fareeha’s eyes hardened. “What?”

“We should explain.” Satya gave the Reaper a meaningful look.

“Have you heard of Adlersbrunn?”

Fareeha frowned, trying to remember the maps that she’d seen. “I—”

“Clearly not,” the Reaper growled. “A man lived there by the name of Dr. Junkenstein. He built machines that behaved almost as if they were alive. He was also completely insane.” 

“Get to the point.”

“Shut it.” The Reaper sent Satya a quick glare. “The people didn’t like him. The mad doctor got mad in more ways than one. The Witch decided to step in. In return for his service, she helped him raise a monster of his own design, trapped the town inside its walls, and sat back to watch it butcher the people.” The Reaper studied Fareeha’s face closely as he spoke. “You know how she smiles.”

Fareeha pressed her lips together, expression cool and neutral. She said nothing.

“Someone eventually turned up to help the townsfolk. Four people killed the monster, the mad doctor, and the army of scrap that he built. Problem is, Dr. Junkenstein hadn’t paid his debt. The Witch wasn’t going to let him die.” Fareeha got the impression of a sneer from the Reaper. “She wasn’t expecting the sort of fight that the wanderers put up, you see. She stepped in, but her new pets ended up dead anyways, and she herself forced to retreat, defeated and humiliated. Do you know who it was that landed the final blow? Whose gun fired the shot that felled the Witch of the Wilds?” The Reaper’s jagged grin glared down at Fareeha. She was silent. “The Alchemist, Ana Amari.”

At her mother’s name, Fareeha’s blood ran cold. She stood up, the book tumbling from her lap. “She…” _ She would never. _Even as she thought it, Fareeha knew it wasn’t true. Her mother was, and has always been a fighter.

“Do you understand?” The Reaper sounded unduly smug. “She’s been looking for you all this time,” he hissed. “When was the last time you thought about your mother?”

“I…” Fareeha trailed off again, panic sweeping through her. Panic, and shame. When was the last time? She had been spending her days out here, studying, taking walks, more keen on observing the others than thinking about home or her other aspirations.

“You didn’t notice,” Satya observed. Her voice was so matter-of-fact. Her eyes softened. Fareeha resented the pity that she saw in them. “She is a practiced puppet master, pulling strings across the land for as long as she’s existed. The Witch is cruel; she’s kind to you only for the sake of her own pride. As long as you actively choose to stay by her, your mother can’t do anything. She is forced to give up either you, or her own values. It would devastate her, and nothing would delight the Witch more.”

“And how do I know that you’re telling the truth?” Fareeha winced. Her voice sounded strangled even to her.

“Think of every story that you’ve ever heard or read about the Witch of the Wilds,” Satya replied softly. “You can’t pretend that she has _ ever _truly been a good person.”

It made sense. Fareeha closed her eyes. It made sense, and she something deep inside her knew it to be true. She took a deep breath, her voice steadying. “And why are you telling me?” Her eyes flicked to the Reaper. “I can’t imagine it’s out of the goodness of your hearts.”

“No,” the Reaper replied bluntly. “We want your help.”

“We don’t like being here,” Satya said. “I suspect that I am here only to help her claim that doctor.”

“A waste of time and resources,” the Reaper snarled. “But we’re under her power. We can’t argue with her. We must do as asked.”

“Defiance is not quite so dangerous for you.” Satya looked Fareeha up and down. “If she forced you to do anything, your mother would have an opportunity. Force would be her last resort.”

“You want me to betray her.”

“She has been betraying you this entire time, hasn’t she?” Satya held up a hand again, quieting the Reaper. “Help us depose her, and we will make sure you leave unharmed and arrive safely wherever you wish to go after this.” Her voice became gentle. “We just want to be free.”

Fareeha clenched her jaw, eyes scanning the room for some way out, some trick or explanation. Of course, she found none. “What would you have me do?”

The Reaper grunted. “The book.”

“Her spellbook,” Satya clarified. “It will not weaken her, but those with the knowledge to use it would be put on equal ground with her. If we can get it, it will take away the power that she has over us.”

“She doesn’t let either of us near it, of course,” the Reaper said. “She knows we’d kill her if we could.”

“Defeat,” Satya corrected. “Even then she would not be easy to kill.”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings,” Fareeha muttered.

“It’s the truth,” Satya replied simply. “In any case, you are the only one that could get close enough to steal it. As far as she knows, you don’t even know the significance of it.”

Fareeha stared at her, fingers clenched. She looked away. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	12. XII.

Satya paused what she was doing when the Witch stepped into the cavern, eyeing her out of the corner of her eye. The Witch gave her a cursory nod, her eyes roving across the walls, settling on Fareeha seated in the corner. The Witch gestured behind her, and the Reaper slunk away, retreating back towards the darkness of the night. She waited until he was gone before walking over.

Fareeha finished her sentence before laying her pen down and looking up. Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression still. The Witch’s eyes scanned the page with an idle curiosity. “Herbal components?”

“I know more about this than some others,” Fareeha said. She flipped the page, revealing a dense wall of notes. “I could still stand to learn more.”

“It’s a good attitude.” The Witch looked over the page and chuckled lightly. “You weren’t lying about being neat.”

“It helps me find things.” Fareeha shrugged, and closed the journal. “Naturally. Can I help you?”

“I happened to find something myself,” the Witch said. She half-turned to the shadow that had reappeared over her shoulder, and held out a hand. “I thought you might enjoy this.”

Fareeha’s eyes settled on the guitar, and despite herself her eyes widened. She silently accepted the instrument, her fingers brushing over the smooth, cool lacquer, eyes excitedly scanning over the elaborate, shimmering white inlays of flowers. “How—why—” Fareeha’s fingers moved to the strings, giving them a few experimental plucks. Her smile widened at the rich, clear sound.

“It’s better in your hands than mine. Or his, for that matter.” The Witch nodded over her shoulder. “You may go.” The Reaper stiffly inclined his head, and slipped away. She watched as Fareeha pulled the instrument fully across her chest, her fingers moving across the strings with a practiced familiarity. “You seem pleased.”

“It’s beautiful.” Fareeha cocked her head, listening intently, and reached up, carefully turning one of the tuning pegs. She plucked the string again, thought about it, and went back to fiddling with the peg. She looked up at the Witch. “You’re giving this to me?”

“As I said.” The Witch sat down, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. “It’s not exactly like it’s useful for the rest of us. Aside from looking pretty, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Fareeha whispered. She took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed music. She moved to another string. “I’m out of practice,” she added, apologetically.

“If it’s any consolation, I have neither talent nor skill for music. I certainly don’t mind if you want to practice.”

Fareeha shot a glance at Satya, who had gone back to scowling down at something on her worktable. “I would hate to disturb her,” she murmured.

The Witch turned to consider Satya, who, if she was aware that they were both watching her, was doing a very good job of ignoring them both. The Witch seemed to consider her for a minute or so, and then shrugged. “You asked about my bed?”

Fareeha’s fingers stumbled. “What?”

“Come.” The Witch stood, reaching down a hand. Fareeha accepted it, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “It’ll be quieter.”

Fareeha frequented her own room, the main chamber, and the food storage. She had never really explored the other rooms, mostly out of respect for Satya. The Witch led her towards one of the doors closer to the side. It opened deeper into the mountain, explaining how there was space for a slightly larger room. 

Fareeha had kept her room fairly spartan; it was almost unchanged from when she had first woken up in it. The Witch’s room, on the other hand, had been clearly decorated. Along one wall was a dresser and a bookshelf. Between the two was a lamp, another one set on the nightstand. At the wave of a hand they sprung to life, filling the room with soft, orange-gold light. There was a dark grey vase set by the door on the dresser, bursting with fresh flowers. Fareeha noticed a faint, ring-like spell circle encircling the stems. Against the opposite wall was a bed, the frame made from a dark, reddish wood, its snowy-white sheets covered by a dark purple, almost black bedspread, trimmed and embroidered with gold. There was a green rug on the ground, woven with a variety of shades in a swirling pattern reminiscent of ferns and vines.

The Witch crossed to the nightstand, and picked up the pitcher of water sitting on it. She moved it to the top of the dresser. She swept off her hat, and hooked it over one of the bedposts. She moved back to the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve a pair of water glasses. She gestured to the floor. “No chairs, I’m afraid, but sit, make yourself comfortable. Take off your shoes.”

Fareeha, who had been standing by the door simply taking it all in, obligingly took her boots off, slowly made her way over to the space on the rug between the bed and the dresser, and sat carefully, hugging the guitar to her chest. The Witch poured two glasses of water and set them down on the floor. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” The Witch moved away again. Fareeha settled her back against the dresser, and began tuning again. She faltered when the Witch sat down opposite her. The Witch shook her head. “Don’t worry,” she said. “As I said before, this room should do a good job of muffling the sound. Satya won’t mind.”

Fareeha’s eyes dipped back to the guitar, brow slightly furrowed in concentration as she tested and adjusted the strings.

“What do you think?” The Witch looked around, eyes bright.

“About the room?” Fareeha glanced up, her expression faintly bashful. “To be honest, I didn’t know it existed.”

“Ah, of course. You did ask me if I needed to sleep.”

Fareeha inclined her head. “It is nice,” she said. “You’ve added a good personal touch to it.”

“Thank you, I do try.” The Witch brushed her hand fondly over the rug.

“I assume the flowers are your doing?”

“It’s a guilty pleasure. They have no need to rest anyways, when they’ve been cut.”

“You have good taste.” Fareeha plucked each string in turn, then ran her fingers across them, the notes cascading in a liquid scale. She nodded, apparently satisfied, and began to pick out a scrap of song. “Let’s see if I remember it correctly…”

The Witch leaned her elbows on her knees as she listened, a gentle, soft smile on her face. She didn’t say much, even when Fareeha took breaks to sip some water and hum the tune under her breath. The water was cool, and tasted fresh, and the playing came easier to her as she went, her fingers remembering what her mind could not.

Fareeha went immediately for easier songs, simple things, little tunes from her childhood. Little ditties sung for games, to tell stories, to make jokes, to pass time. A lullaby. Fareeha’s heart ached. She could remember her mother’s voice, quiet, rich, and smoky in the darkness, her hands tucking the blankets around her shoulders, her fingers slowly brushing stray strands of Fareeha’s hair out of her eyes and lovingly stroking her hair. Fareeha looked up as she strummed the last chords, the memory of her mother brushing a kiss against her forehead in her mind, a whisper of a good night in her ears as she studied the Witch’s face.

_ You know how she smiles. _A faint frown tugged at the corner of Fareeha’s lips. The Witch did smile often, but usually in the faintly amused, knowing way. It was a smile that gave off the impression that the wearer knew more than anyone else, and was merely having fun watching the others stumble around in the dark. Like life was a game that she wasn’t really taking too seriously.

This wasn’t one of those smiles. It was sweet and subdued, the sort of smile that was unconscious, rising unbidden to the surface. When Fareeha looked at the Witch, her eyes averted and unfocused, the light glimmering in her earrings, shining in her tousled hair, all she saw was gentle, genuine fondness. Fareeha’s frown deepened.

The Witch looked up, noticing Fareeha’s frown. Her smile evaporated, expression becoming questioning. “Is something wrong?”

Fareeha quickly smiled back and shook her head. “I just wish I remembered more, that’s all.” She idly strummed the strings and decided to change to a brighter song.

The Witch’s gaze lingered, but eventually slipped away again, distractedly settling on Fareeha’s hands moving across the strings. She wasn’t really watching anything, more focused on listening and letting her mind wander. Fareeha could tell it from the vagueness in her eyes.

Then again, she had to remind herself. It seemed that she was bad at telling anything about the Witch.

Neither spoke much. Fareeha was more concerned with playing, and the Witch was perfectly content to just listen. If she did or didn’t recognize any of the songs, she didn’t indicate it, but did occasionally tap her fingers. Fareeha mostly kept her eyes down, focusing on her music, but couldn’t help sneaking glances at the Witch. She had beautiful eyes. Rich and blue, as she had said. Fareeha could see how they might be mistaken for green; their depths shone turquoise in the warm light. Fareeha’s fingers missed a note, and she winced. She was getting distracted. The Witch glanced at her, eyes focusing and brightening for a moment. Fareeha shook her head and started over again.

“It’s getting late,” the Witch said finally. Fareeha looked to the lamp, though it was a pointless gesture. It wasn’t the type that burned. She shook her hand, grimacing slightly at the sting in her fingertips.

“I should probably take a break.” She stood, and gingerly set the guitar aside, leaning it against the wall, careful of the cups on the floor. Hers was long empty. The Witch still had some left. Fareeha picked up her cup and filled it again. “Stop subjecting you to the same handful of songs over and over again.”

“I don’t particularly mind.” The Witch combed her fingers distractedly through her hair, pulling long, pale strands of it out of her ponytail. “I treasure the time that I get with you.”

“I…” Fareeha couldn’t help but beam. “Likewise.”

The Witch reached up, tugging her hair loose. She combed her hands through it, wincing at the tangles. “In the nightstand,” she said, fingers twined in her hair, “There’s a comb—”

“I got it.” Fareeha stood. The stone was rough and cold beneath her feet after the relative softness of the woven rug. 

“First drawer,” the Witch called.

Fareeha opened the first drawer. There wasn’t much inside, just a few more cups, a tortoiseshell comb, some hair clips, and a small, rectangular box shoved into the back. Fareeha picked up the comb, sparing the box a curious glance.

“Thank you, dear,” The Witch said, as she slipped the comb into her palm. Fareeha settled back down in her original position. She picked up her glass and took a long drink as the Witch began to comb out her hair.

“Give me a hand?” Fareeha looked up to see the Witch holding out the comb apologetically, her other hand tugging at the tangles at the nape of her neck.

Fareeha stood, sitting back down behind the Witch. She took the comb from her hand, and smoothed her fingers over over a section of hair, laying it over her palm and holding it between her thumb and her hand before beginning to work the comb through it, starting at the bottom.

“Sorry,” she murmured when the Witch winced.

“That’s fine,” the Witch said. “It’s unavoidable.”

Fareeha tried her best to be gentle with the tangles, working the teeth of the comb carefully through the knots, trying to keep a firm grip and keep from pulling at the roots. She did her best to be attentive to the body language of the Witch, pausing to touch her hair or shoulder when she cringed particularly hard.

It took a while for Fareeha to get through all the tangles. She swept the comb through each section of hair, and smoothed it down. She sat back, and let out an awed breath. Her hair looked luminous and soft in the light, now that it was combed and smoothed, sweeping over her shoulders in a pale curtain. It looked it like would be gratifying to curl fingers into. Fareeha bit her lip and quickly looked away.

The Witch turned over her shoulder, looking Fareeha up and down. “Are you busy tonight?”

“I’m…” Fareeha blinked. She shook her head.

“Stay with me then?” The Witch tilted her head, eyes wide and imploring. “At least a little while.”

Fareeha’s eyes widened. “At least a little while, hm?” She murmured. She picked up both glasses—the Witch’s was now empty as well—and stood, stretching. She placed the glasses next to the pitcher.

The Witch stood as she turned around. Her footsteps were nearly silent on the rug as she walked up to Fareeha. She stood there, chin tilted slightly back to look Fareeha in the eye. Fareeha returned the gaze. The Witch’s expression broke into a coy grin. One hand reached up, settling lightly on the center of Fareeha’s chest. Fareeha noted that she’d taken off her gloves at some point. She had short, rounded nails. She looked down, then up again, reaching up now with both hands to cup Fareeha’s face. After a moment, she withdrew, her fingers brushing against the golden ornaments in Fareeha’s hair as she went. She jerked her head towards the dresser. “Take off the jacket. It’s not cold in here, is it?”

“No,” Fareeha said simply. She shrugged out of her jacket, folded it over her arm, and laid it on the dresser before turning. “So,” she said, crossing her arms. “What are we going to do for ‘a little while’?”

The Witch studied Fareeha, then tilted her head towards the bed. Without waiting for a reply, she walked towards it and sat down on the edge, hands moving up to take out her earrings. “It’s later, don’t you think?” She collected the earrings in her palm and dropped them on the nightstand.

Fareeha watched her impassively, finally cracking and letting out an amused huff as she spoke. She strode forward, sitting beside the Witch, who immediately nestled up against her side. “I see,” she murmured.

“‘A little while’ might be inaccurate.” The Witch stretched up, pressing a kiss to Fareeha’s neck. She turned, placing her hand on Fareeha’s thigh, pushing herself up to brush more kisses along her jaw. “Keep me company for the night?”

Fareeha tilted her head, quietly enjoying the affection. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully.

The Witch pressed herself against Fareeha, her lips a whisper away from her ear. “Please?”

A shiver ran down Fareeha’s spine. Wordlessly, she pulled the Witch into her lap. The Witch let out a pleased chirp, and wrapped her arms around Fareeha’s neck. Fareeha pulled her closer, twining her fingers in her hair, and it was just as soft and smooth and lovely as she had imagined.

***

The room was dark when Fareeha awoke. She remembered the lamps dimming, leaving just enough light to see by. The warm, comfortable presence of the Witch was pressed against her back. By the door, she could see the spells on the flowers more clearly—thin threads and runes of lime green glittering behind the glass. Fareeha looked around, her eyes lazily slipping over the nightstand before snapping back.

The Witch had taken off her belt. The thick, dark shadow of the spell book lay on top of the nightstand, well within arm’s reach. Fareeha could just barely make out the letters on the cover, the edges of the metal ornament catching hints of orange light. 

_ Vitae. _Life. Fareeha stared at the word. She never thought that the word could feel so ominous. She shifted, reaching out a hand, and paused, listening. The Witch’s breathing was slow and even. Fareeha held her breath, and touched her fingertips to the book.

The cover was smooth and cool, gently weathered but evidently lovingly cared for. The binding was almost silky under Fareeha’s fingers. She moved her fingers down, feeling the soft, worn edges of the pages. She lifted her hand, and almost opened the book before remembering the clasp that held it closed. The tome felt powerful, not in the humming, warm way that Satya’s work often was, but more as a _presence_. A weighted, unseen glow under Fareeha’s hand.

Fareeha had sometimes seen the Witch holding the book open in her hands, but she had never seen or heard it being opened. She touched the clasp, and moved her fingers away, quelling her curiosity. There was no point.

The Witch was still sound asleep. The book was in her hands. It would be easy. The Witch trusted her. Fareeha hesitated. The Witch trusted her. She looked over her shoulder, spotting a pale shoulder under the curve of a blanket. At the very least, she’d trusted her last night… Fareeha flushed at the memory of her lips pressing against the Witch’s lips, trailing down to the soft, sensitive skin of her throat, her hair spread over the pillows, her hands on Fareeha’s shoulders, her back. Fareeha remembered how she curled up in her arms, a breathy near-purr in voice. She remembered her laugh, sweet and fond in her ear, the way she held so tightly onto Fareeha’s shoulders with an almost desperate air. And in the days before, the way the Witch’s eyes lit up when she saw Fareeha, the way she seemed to relax when she was in her company.

It would have been easy. Fareeha slowly swung her legs off the side of the bed, easing her feet to the ground, holding her breath. The Witch didn’t stir. Fareeha stood, turning away from the book, instead padding silently across the floor to collect her clothes and dress herself, stopping only to sadly brush her thumb against the neck of the guitar. She looked back when she got to the door. The Witch hadn’t moved, asleep on her side, her back to the door. Fareeha felt a pang in her chest, but ignored it, and slipped out the door.

It was still dark when Fareeha emerged, having retrieved the rest of her belongings. The cavern had been empty and still. No one to see her leave. No one to say goodbye. She hesitated at the threshold, staring down the dark, bristling forest, the warm comfort of a place that had almost become her home at her back. She searched the sky, wondering, looking for a path forward.

Then, she took a step away from the light. Then another, faster, longer, and more confident this time. She knew where she must go.


	13. XIII.

The Witch of the Wilds stood at the entrance to the cavern, her arms folded across her chest, an elegant frown gracing her lips. She pushed down the terrible, anxious dread that was creeping up her chest. This was just a game. That’s all it had ever been. She closed her eyes. Just a game.

“Which one of you was it?” The Witch turned her head, her hair trailing over her shoulder. The dawn glinted harsh and sharp in her eyes. The Summoner and the Reaper stood behind her, both skulking in the shadows and refusing to meet her gaze. She curled her lip. “Or was it both?”

“Does it matter?” The Reaper growled. His gaze turned to the book hanging heavy in its usual place at the Witch’s hip. “She’s gone.”

The Witch turned fully, the shadows falling over her face. “It does matter,” she whispered, a dangerous, green glint in her eyes. She stepped with slow, meaningful intent towards the Reaper. “Did you think I’d let you get away with it?”

Satya intervened. “She gets further and further away as we speak.”

The Witch’s eyes flicked to her, and she snarled, but whipped around, stalking back into the sunlight. “Stay.” The word had an iron weight over the air. “I’ll deal with you when I get back.”

***

Fareeha stepped over the log, pausing to listen. Nothing but the occasional thin, high call of a bird in the distance, the wind clattering through dry branches, and the crackle of her own footsteps in the undergrowth. She picked out the next stretch of the path, and began to walk again, loping with an easy, quiet gait through the woods. They still seemed so beautiful to her eyes.

She had taken the fastest, easiest way out of the mountains, circling back to the south from whence she came, her destination fixed in her mind. A verdant valley of rustling green, a silver thread of a river carving across its middle. The valley that the Witch had shown her, all that time ago. There had been something in her eyes, in her voice. Something strangely sad.

Fareeha knew in her heart that that was where it had all started. She hoped it might be the place where it ended.

It had been days since she had fled. She would have been discovered by now. And if she had been discovered, she was now pursued. Fareeha had grown nimble, and familiar with this stretch of the Wilds after she had left home. She knew how best to travel safely and quickly between the trees. She hoped it would be enough.

***

The sun was setting on the day that Fareeha finally reached the mouth of the valley. If it had taken far less time than it should have, she didn’t question it. She stopped for a moment, taking in the old ruins rising at the side of the river, the solemn, proud wreckage of a fort watching over empty, crumbled homes. It reminded her of home, and Fareeha longed to stay, to look a little bit longer, but something urged her deeper into the valley.

It was fully dark by the time she began to approach the back of the valley. Fareeha’s eyes strained in the weak moonlight to make out the forms around her for as long as she was able, but when she felt that she was getting close, close enough for her to slow down, she stopped to light a torch, holding it above her head.

She sucked in a quick breath. More ruins. The ones previous had been crumbled under the strains of time, the wood splintered and rotted, the stone cracked and eroded, nets of ivy creeping over the walls, grass and even a few saplings shooting up between the stones scattered across the ground. These buildings, in contrast, had been clearly burned, wood and stone alike charred black, the glass in the windows twisted and warped, dark films and smudges lingering in the deepest crevices where the wind and water couldn’t reach.

Fareeha had found herself on the outskirts of a village. The main road, marked by the broken flagstones, led her deeper into its heart. Fareeha drew her sword, eyes darting around, and followed it. Everywhere she turned, it was more of the same. Ashes and ruin. The air was still. Fareeha caught herself holding her breath.

In the village square, Fareeha stopped dead in her tracks. Black. It was all black. Scorch-marks radiated from the center, though whatever had stood there had long been reduced by time and weather to a pile of jagged, rain-eaten beams and sticks, all burnt to a uniform coal-black, broken up only by the ivy that choked it. They speared into the sky, their ends snapped, jagged and sharp. Fareeha crept closer, eyes searching the ground for lumps of stone or glints of metal.

Fareeha’s head jerked up at the flash of movement in the corner of her eye. She swept her torch around, carving a bright arc in the darkness. Nothing. She looked around, spotting two large, round eyes flashing down at her from the top of one of the more intact buildings. Just an owl. Fareeha let out her breath.

“You could have at least left a note.” Fareeha swung around again, swinging the torch before her. It was a familiar voice. It had come from the pile of wood. She could see the glint of metal and a flash of pale hair from between the timbers.

Fareeha was silent for a long minute. When she spoke, her voice was flat and low. “A plague and a fire, was it? Just bad luck?” She looked around. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?”

“No.” The Witch stepped out from behind the pile and gave her a small shake of the head. “Not at first.”

Fareeha’s eyes sharpened, and she drew her lips together, but she changed the subject. “I don’t want a fight.”

“I don’t either.” The Witch’s eyes were fixed on the torch in Fareeha’s hand. Fareeha moved with a feline grace, all muscle and sleek, smooth ease from years upon years of training. If it came to blows, the fight would not be as one-sided as either had once thought. “You’re angry.”

Fareeha scoffed. “I deserve to be, don’t you think?”

“You do, but—”

“I would have appreciated hearing it from you.” Fareeha took a step forward, and, much to her surprise, the Witch took a step back. “You kept it from me. All this time.”

“I—”

“You used me.” Fareeha’s lips twisted into a sardonic, bitter smile. “For the sake of your precious ego.” The Witch flinched. Fareeha gestured around, the tip of her sword flashing angrily in the firelight. “How many people died here? What did you do to them? What did they do to make you think they deserved it?”

“I loved them,” the Witch whispered. She reached out, lightly touching the nearest beam. Her fingers came back dusted black. “I cared for them. I tried to save them.”

Fareeha scoffed again. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” The Witch finally met her gaze, her eyes wide. She held out her hands, palms up. “Please.” When Fareeha was silent, she continued. “I was… I was the village apothecary. The doctor. I lived here, and I watched over them. People came to me when they needed help, and for a long time almost no one died under my care. I loved them,” she repeated. “If it was at all possible to save any of their lives, then I would. I dedicated my life to it. I worked ceaselessly for them. Times were peaceful, and happy.

“There was a plague. I wasn’t lying about that. It swept up the valley, and left nothing but pain and death in its wake. I didn’t have the supplies to treat every person that came, ill, to my door. Even when I did, there was little that I could do. Only ease the pain, keep it from spreading, and hope that they would have enough strength to fight it off. I didn’t know what else to do.” The Witch searched Fareeha’s eyes. She saw only fire and darkness. “I couldn’t cure it. They mistook ‘couldn’t’ for ‘wouldn’t’.

“Those that had been exposed to it and survived became immune, you see. I was one of the first. It was a much less severe strain; I shook it off quickly. It was enough. The people began to whisper. Why did I not fall ill? Why did I not help the sick and dying any more than I did? As they saw it, all I was doing was getting rich off of their suffering.” The Witch’s eyes turned back to the torch in Fareeha’s hand. “I guess they called me a witch enough times for me to become one.

“I loved them,” she said again, slowly. “And they hated me. I loved them, and then I hated them.”

Fareeha’s eyes flicked from the torch to the ruins in the center of the square. The remnants of a pile of wood. Understanding and horror dawned on her face as she pulled the torch back, changing from brandishing it to simply holding it aloft

The Witch began to number off. “How many died? I don’t know. Perhaps all of them. What did I do to them? The flames took my side. I burned them and their homes to the ground. What did they do to deserve it?” The Witch stared at Fareeha, holding her eyes unblinkingly. “What did I? What did I do to deserve it?” When she smiled, it came out more like a sneer. “This is always the way it goes, isn’t it? I’ve tried trust before, but people will always turn their backs if they can.”

A thorn of guilt dug at Fareeha’s heart. “And what of the others?” She whispered. “Did they deserve it too? What of my mother, doomed to wander forever if you had your way? And me, caged by lies and false affection?”

The Witch averted her eyes, voice wavering. “It was selfish. I know it was selfish. I was angry. So angry. I’ll admit it. I just wanted her to hurt. You were just the best tool to do it.”

“I’m done.” Fareeha’s voice was hard. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Wait—Fareeha please—” The Witch reached out a hand. Fareeha glared at her, and the Witch recoiled at the sight of her eyes, burning with equal parts scorn and pity. “Please, hear me out—”

“Why?”

“They say the Witch of the Wilds can’t love. That she doesn’t have a heart.” Fareeha frowned. The Witch reached out again, cautiously. “You proved them wrong. You’ve been proving them wrong ever since we first saw this place, that morning on the ridge.” She hurried on when Fareeha didn’t respond. “I’ve treated you badly. I know. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even realize—I never meant to fall in love.” She searched Fareeha’s shadowed face, and let her hand drop. “I’d forgotten what it was like. Give me another chance, Fareeha. I’ll do better this time.”

Fareeha sheathed her sword, but the brief flicker of hope on the Witch’s face was dashed when she shook her head. “You can’t take back what you’ve done.” She looked the Witch up and down. “I still can’t tell if you’re lying or not. I don’t even know your name.” She turned away, and began to pick her way back across the square.

“Angela.” The name came as a whisper, and the eaves of the remaining houses seemed to shake. Fareeha stopped in her tracks, and turned.

“What?”

“Angela,” the Witch repeated. “My name was—is Angela.”

It was a beautiful name, kind and light and luminous in all the ways that the Witch rarely was. Rarely, but not never. Fareeha looked at her, and she looked back. She looked like a shadow of herself, uncertain, vulnerable, and afraid, standing by the overgrown wreckage of the pyre that she would have died on. There was none of the usual bravado. The power, the cheerful, cunning confidence. Fareeha looked into her eyes, and saw that she was telling the truth.

“Forgive me,” Angela said. She sounded miserable. “I can make this right.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Angela.” Fareeha tested the name on her tongue. Then, she slowly crossed back over the square, stopping right in front of the Witch.

“Let me fix this—” Angela broke off, eyes widening as Fareeha grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, her arms wrapping around her middle and back. She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.

“Then try,” Fareeha murmured. “You were kind once, you can be again. I’ve seen it.” She took a deep breath. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you, and I’m sorry that you had to suffer through it, but they don’t deserve what you’ve done to them either. Try to forgive them.”

She felt Angela hesitate. Then nod. Fareeha bent down, and kissed the top of her head. Despite it all, she still loved her. She gave Angela a squeeze, and hoped that she understood. “I should return to my mother.” She let go, and stepped back.

For a moment, the Witch—Angela—looked like she was going to argue. She could, if she wanted. Then, her shoulders slumped. She nodded. “I understand.” She took a deep breath, and reached up, tilting her head to one side. After a minute, she held out her hand. “Travel safe. As I said, if you need me… I will be here for you.”

One of Angela’s brass earrings shone up at Fareeha in the flickering firelight. Fareeha glanced at Angela, then inclined her head, and accepted it. “Thank you.”

Angela backed away, mustering a faint, sad smile. “May we meet again,” she said.

Fareeha cupped the earring in her hand. She looked up. “Where are you going?”

“To tell your mother where to find you.” Angela adjusted her hat, pulling the brim down. “Like I should have done, a long time ago.”

Fareeha watched until she disappeared back into the night. She lingered for a few heartbeats longer before turning away, tucking the earring into the pocket of her jacket, the touch of her fingers on the metal a silent promise. They would meet again. She looked up, watching the first pinks of dawn creep across the sky.

They would meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> I may write more at a later date. An epilogue, or some lighter stories in the same timeline. I'm admittedly very fond of it. For now, however, this is the end. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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